Tell me the hours when you do not receive the fair sex, and when sexagenarian troubadours do not incommode you.
Cadio is entirely redone and rewritten up to the part I read to you, it is less offensive.
I am not doing Montreveche. I will tell you about that. It is quite a story. I love you and I embrace you with all my heart.
Your old George Sand
Did you receive my pamphlets on the faience? You have not acknowledged them. They were sent to Croisset the day after I got your last letter.
LI. TO GUSTAVE FLAUBERT 14 March, 1867
Your old troubadour is again prostrate. Every moment his guitar threatens to be broken. And then he sleeps forty-eight hours and is cured—but feeble, and he can not be in Paris on the 16th as he had intended. Maurice went alone a little while ago, I shall go to join him in five or six days.
Little Aurore consoles me for this mischance. She twitters like a bird along with the birds who are twittering already as in full spring time.
The anemone Sylvia which I brought from the woods into the garden and which I had a great deal of trouble in acclimating is finally growing thousands of white and pink stars among the blue periwinkle. It is warm and damp. One can not break one's guitar in weather like this. Good-bye, dear good friend.
G. Sand