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Updated: June 3, 2025


The verses began: "Femme ou demon, ange ou sylphide, Oh! par pitie, fuis, laisse-moi! Doux miel d'amour n'est que poison perfide, Mon coeur a trop souffert, il dort, eloigne-toi. "Je te l'ai dit, mon coeur sommeille; Laisse-le, de ses maux a peine il est gueri, Et j'ai peur que ta voix si douce a mon oreille Par un chant d'amour ne l'eveille, Lui, que l'amour a taut meurtri!"

He took her out sleighing on the last remnant of the snow, very thin and bumpy, and utilized the occasion to put his arm around her waist. She cried "Laisse-moi tranquille, Jean!" boxed his ears, and said she thought he must be out of his mind. The following Saturday afternoon he craftily came behind her in the stable as she was milking the cow, and bent her head back and kissed her on the face.

The noise of virulent discussion increased and continued, and then Sophia could hear sobbing, broken by short and fierce phrases from the man. Then the door of the bedroom opened brusquely. "J'en ai soupe!" exclaimed the man, in tones of angry disgust. "Laisse-moi, je te prie!" And then a soft muffled sound, as of a struggle, a quick step, and the very violent banging of the front door.

Several times he repeated the celebrated phrase by Gounod: "Laisse-moi contempler ton visage," discovering in it a profoundly tender expression which never before he had felt in the same way. Suddenly he asked himself how it was that he had so soon become different from his usual self.

"Plus fin que Pachmann!" he reiterated, waving his arms wildly, and dancing. "Tu auras une migraine affreuse. Rentrons, petit coeur!" said George Sand, gently but firmly. "Laisse-moi le saluer," cried the composer, struggling in her grasp. "Demain soir, oui. Il sera parmi nous," said the novelist, as she hurried him away.

It was no longer two illustrious actors, Montrose and Helsson; they became two beings from the ideal world, hardly two beings, indeed, but two voices: the eternal voice of the man that loves, the eternal voice of the woman that yields; and together they sighed forth all the poetry of human tenderness. When Faust sang: "Laisse-moi, laisse-moi contempler ton visage,"

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