e laws of Nature and
to find the wisdom of the primitive days of the world. We are told that,
during the Revolution, Patience was a sort of intermediary between the
_chateau_ and the cottage, and that he helped in bringing about the
reign of equity in his district. It is to be hoped this was so.

In any case, it is very certain that we come across this Patience again
in Russian novels with a name ending in _ow_ or _ew_. This is a proof
that if the personage seems somewhat impossible, he was at any rate
original, new and entertaining.

We hear people say that George Sand is no longer read. It is to be hoped
that _Mauprat_ is still read, otherwise our modern readers miss one of
the finest stories in the history of novels. This, then, is the point
at which we have arrived in the evolution of George Sand's genius. There
may still be modifications in her style, and her talent may still be
refreshed under various influences, but with _Mauprat_ she took her
place in the first rank of great storytellers.

VI

A CASE OF MATERNAL AFFECTION IN LOVE

CHOPIN

We have passed over George Sand's intercourse with Liszt and Madame
d'Agoult very rapidly. One of Balzac's novels gives us an opportunity of
saying a few more words about it.

Balzac had been introduced to George Sand by Jules Sandeau. At the time
of her rupture with his friend, Balzac had sided entirely with him. In
the _Lettres a l'Etrangere_, we see the author of the _Comedie humaine_
pouring out his indignation with the blue stocking, who was so cruel in
her love, in terms which were not extremely elegant. Gradually, and when
he knew more about the adventure, his anger cooled down. In March, 1838,
he gave Madame Zulma Carraud an account of a visit to Nohant. He found
his comrade, George Sand, in her dressing-gown, smoking a cigar by her
fireside after dinner.

"She had some pretty yellow slippers on, ornamented with fringe,
some fancy stockings and red trousers. So much for the moral side.
Physically, she had doubled her chin like a canoness. She had not a
single white hair, in spite of all her fearful misfortunes; her dusky
complexion had not changed. Her beautiful eyes were just as bright, and
she looked just as stupid as ever when she was thinking. . . ."

This is George Sand in her thirty-fifth year, as she was at the time of
the fresh adventure we are about to relate.

Balzac continues by giving us a few details about the life of the
authoress. It