This was indecorous [unanstandig] after she had been uncivil.
"After all, you are right NOT to come," I replied in the same
tone; "you might find the door closed! I was thinking of the
Emperor Nicholas."
George Sand looked at me in astonishment, I plunged boldly into her large, beautiful, brown, cow-like eyes. Chopin did not seem displeased, I knew the movements of his head.
Instead of giving any answer George Sand rose in a theatrical fashion, and strode in the most manly way through the salon to the blazing fire. I followed her closely, and seated myself for the third time beside her, ready for another attack.
She would be obliged at last to say something.
George Sand drew an enormously thick Trabucco cigar out of her apron pocket, and called out "Frederic! un fidibus!"
This offended me for him, that perfect gentleman, my master; I understood Liszt's words: "Pauvre Frederic!" in all their significance.
Chopin immediately came up with a fidibus.
As she was sending forth the first terrible cloud of smoke,
George Sand honoured me with a word:
"In St. Petersburg," she began, "I could not even smoke a
cigar in a drawing-room?"