Oh, don't stop! Monsieur Chopin, you are in the middle of a miracle! - I'm not quite yet cured.
How did you get in here? Who are you?
I am your slave, and you have summoned me with your music.
Oh, yes. I think I know who you are: I have heard you described. Madame Sand, rumor has it you are a woman, and so I must ask you to leave my private chambers.
Have I offended your modesty? I apologize. Only play me one more piece and I'll go.
No! This is ridiculously improper. And frightening, as well.
He has trouble with his lungs. It's the misery of his life.
Well, he should be bled. We have an excellent physician. He's developed a very special variety of leeches - quite painless, and they leave very little mark.
Better yet, send in George to Monsieur Chopin: she leaves no mark at all.