each other at all, and for some time we have been
struggling against this horrible necessity. We have had trouble enough.
There seemed to be nothing left but to put an end to our lives, and if
it had not been for my children, we should have done this."

The question is, Was George Sand blameless in the matter? It appears
that she had discovered that her dear Jules was faithless to her, and
that, during her absence, he had deceived her. She would not forgive
him, but sent him off to Italy, and refused to see him again. The last
of these letters is dated June 15, 1833.

"I shall make a parcel of a few of Jules' things that he left in
the wardrobe," she says, "and I will send them to you. I do not want
anything to do with him when he comes back, and, according to the last
words of the letter you showed me, his return may be soon. For a long
time I have been very much hurt by the discoveries I made with regard
to his conduct, and I could not feel anything else for him now but
affectionate compassion. His pride, I hope, would refuse this. Make him
clearly understand, if necessary, that there can never be anything more
between us. If this hard task should not be necessary, that is, if Jules
should himself understand that it could not be otherwise, spare him the
sorrow of hearing that he has lost everything, even my respect. He
must undoubtedly have lost his own self-esteem, so that he is punished
enough."

Thus ended this great passion. This was the first of George Sand's
errors, and it certainly was an immense one. She had imagined that
happiness reigns in students' rooms. She had counted on the passing
fancy of a young man of good family, who had come to Paris to sow his
wild oats, for giving her fresh zest and for carving out for herself a
fresh future. It was a most commonplace adventure, utterly destitute of
psychology, and by its very bitterness it contrasted strangely with
her elevated sentimental romance with Aurelien de Seze. That was the
quintessence of refinement. All that is interesting about this second
adventure is the proof that it gives us of George Sand's wonderful
illusions, of the intensity of the mirage of which she was a dupe, and
of which we have so many instances in her life.

Baronne Dudevant had tried conjugal life, and she had now tried free
love. She had been unsuccessful in both instances. It is to these
adventures though, to these trials, errors and disappointments that
we owe the writer we a