To show his gratitude, the king sent the two artists valuable presents: to Chopin a gold cup and saucer, to Moscheles a travelling case. "The king," remarked Chopin, "gave Moscheles a travelling case to get the sooner rid of him." The composer was fond of and had a talent for throwing off sharp and witty sayings; but it is most probable that on this occasion the words were prompted solely by the fancy, and that their ill-nature was only apparent. Or must we assume that the man Moscheles was less congenial to Chopin than the artist? Moscheles was a Jew, and Chopin disliked the Jews. As, however, the tempting opportunity afforded by the nature of the king's present to Moscheles is sufficient to account for Chopin's remark, and no proofs warranting a less creditable explanation are forthcoming, it would be unfair to listen to the suggestions of suspicion.

George Sand tells us in the "Histoire de ma Vie" that Chopin found his rooms in the Rue Tronchet cold and damp, and felt sorely the separation from her. The consequence of this was that the saintly woman, the sister of mercy, took, after some time, pity upon her suffering worshipper, and once more sacrificed herself. Not to misrepresent her account, the only one we have, of this change in the domestic arrangements of the two friends, I shall faithfully transcribe her delicately-worded statements:—

He again began to cough alarmingly, and I saw myself forced
either to give in my resignation as nurse, or to pass my life
in impossible journeyings to and fro. He, in order to spare me
these, came every day to tell me with a troubled face and a
feeble voice that he was wonderfully well. He asked if he
might dine with us, and he went away in the evening, shivering
in his cab. Seeing how he took to heart his exclusion from our
family life, I offered to let to him one of the pavilions, a
part of which I could give up to him. He joyfully accepted. He
had there his room, received there his friends, and gave there
his lessons without incommoding me. Maurice had the room above
his; I occupied the other pavilion with my daughter.

Let us see if we cannot get some glimpses of the life in the pavilions of the Rue Pigalle, No. 16. In the first months of 1840, George Sand was busy with preparations for the performance of her drama Cosima, moving heaven and earth to bring about the admission of her friend Madame Dorval into the company of the Theatre-Francais, where her piece, in which she wished this lady to take the principal part, was to be performed. Her son Maurice passed his days in the studio of Eugene Delacroix; and Solange gave much time to her lessons, and lost much over her toilet. Of Grzymala we hear that he is always in love with all the beautiful women, and rolls his big eyes at the tall Borgnotte and the little Jacqueline; and that Madame Marliani is always up to her ears in philosophy. This I gathered from George Sand's Correspondance, where, as the reader will see presently, more is to be found.

George Sand to Chopin; Cambrai, August 13, 1840:—

I arrived at noon very tired, for it is 45 and 35 leagues from
Paris to this place. We shall relate to you good stories of
the bourgeois of Cambrai. They are beaux, they are stupid,
they are shopkeepers; they are the sublime of the genre. If
the Historical Procession does not console us, we are capable
of dying of ennui at the politeness which people show us. We
are lodged like princes. But what hosts, what conversations,
what dinners! We laugh at them when we are by ourselves, but
when we are before the enemy, what a pitiable figure we
selves, make! I am no longer desirous to see you come; but I
aspire to depart very quickly, and I understand why you do not
wish to give concerts. It is not unlikely that Pauline Viardot
may not sing the day after to-morrow, for want of a hall. We
shall, perhaps, leave a day sooner. I wish I were already far
away from the Cambresians, male and female.
Good night! I am going to bed, I am overcome with fatigue.
Love your old woman [votre vieille] as she loves you.

From a letter written two days later to her son, we learn that Madame Viardot after all gave two concerts at Cambrai. But amusing as the letter is, we will pass it over as not concerning us here. Of another letter (September 20,1840), likewise addressed to her son, I shall quote only one passage, although it contains much interesting matter about the friends and visitors of the inmates of the pavilions of the Rue Pigalle, No. 16:—

Balzac came to dine here the day before yesterday. He is quite
mad. He has discovered the blue rose, for which the
horticultural societies of London and Belgium have promised a
reward of 500,000 francs (qui dit, dit-il). He will sell,
moreover, every grain at a hundred sous, and for this great
botanic production he will lay out only fifty centimes.
Hereupon Rollinat asked him naively:—
"Well, why, then, do you not set about it at once?"
To which Balzac replied:
"Oh! because I have so many other things to do; but I shall
set about it one of these days."

Stavenow, in Schone Geister (see foot-note, p. 70), tells an anecdote of Balzac, which may find a place here:—

One day Balzac had invited George Sand, Chopin, and Gutmann to
dinner. On that occasion he related to them that the next day
he would have to meet a bill of 30,000 francs, but that he had
not a sou in his pocket. Gutmann asked what he intended to do?
"Well," replied Balzac, "what shall I do? I wait quietly.
Before to-morrow something unexpected may turn up, and give me
the means to pay the sum." Scarcely had he said this when the
door bell rang. The servant entered and announced that a
gentleman was there who urgently wished to speak with M.
Balzac.
Balzac rose and left the room. After a quarter of an hour he
came back in high spirits and said:
"The 30,000 francs are found. My publisher wishes to bring out
a new edition of my works, and he offers me just this sum."
George Sand, Chopin, and Gutmann looked at each other with a
smile, and thought—"Another one!"