ning to the stories told by the hemp-weaver. Her fresh
young soul was thus impregnated at an early age with the poetry of the
country. And it was all the poetry of the country, that which comes from
things, such as the freshness of the air and the perfume of the flowers,
but also that which is to be found in the simplicity of sentiments and
in that candour and surprise face to face with those sights of Nature
which have remained the same and have been just as incomprehensible ever
since the beginning of the world.

The antagonism of the two mothers increased, though. We will not go into
detail with regard to the various episodes, but will only consider the
consequences.

The first consequence was that the intelligence of the child became more
keen through this duality. Placed as she was, in these two different
worlds, between two persons with minds so unlike, and, obliged as she
was to go from one to the other, she learnt to understand and appreciate
them both, contrasts though they were. She had soon reckoned each of
them up, and she saw their weaknesses, their faults, their merits and
their advantages.

A second consequence was to increase her sensitiveness. Each time that
she left her mother, the separation was heartrending. When she was
absent from her, she suffered on account of this absence, and still more
because she fancied that she would be forgotten. She loved her mother,
just as she was, and the idea that any one was hostile or despised her
caused the child much silent suffering. It was as though she had an
ever-open wound.

Another consequence, and by no means the least important one, was to
determine in a certain sense the immense power of sympathy within her.
For a long time she only felt a sort of awe, when with her reserved and
ceremonious grandmother. She felt nearer to her mother, as there was
no need to be on ceremony with her. She took a dislike to all those who
represented authority, rules and the tyranny of custom. She considered
her mother and herself as oppressed individuals. A love for the people
sprang up in the heart of the daughter of Sophie-Victoire. She belonged
to them through her mother, and she was drawn to them now through the
humiliations she underwent. In this little enemy of reverences and of
society people, we see the dawn of that instinct which, later on, was to
cause her to revolt openly. George Sand was quite right in saying,
later on, that it was of no use seeking any intell