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 Marseilles, she had written to her father, as we have seen, complaining of the aching pain between the shoulders, that never left her, sure precursor and sign of consumption. Both were already doomed: the career of the one was cut off in the full plenitude of her power and genius; the other only appeared before the public a pale and graceful phantom, pathetic and touching in her youth and tenderness, beside the grandeur and strength of her sister, and then vanished, taking with her all the joy and gladness and the best and purest affection Rachel ever knew.

We have already alluded to her brother Raphaël. She seems to have been attached to him and to have depended on his good sense for the management of her affairs; but she knew his faults, and often had a sly hit at him.

In the letter addressed to M. Jules Lecomte, she makes fun of the company Raphaël had got together to accompany her in 1849, during her tour in the south of France:—

From Liège, however, in June 1847, she wrote to Sarah in enthusiastic terms:—

I have not written to you before, because I can only speak of one subject, and that is so sad a one that I am afraid of taking up my pen. But so as not to fail utterly (for I owe myself rather to others than to myself), I will summon all my courage, and only speak of my success in Holland. But I suddenly remember; I gave all details to