upon
her as a penance to take part in the sports and pastimes with the rest
as heretofore, much to her dismay. But she soon found her liking for
these return, and with it her health of mind. Unshaken still in her
private belief that she would take the veil in due time, she was content
to wait, and in the interval to be a useful and agreeable member of
society. No more insubordination, no more mischievous freaks, yet
"Sainte Aurore" remained the life and soul of all recreations recognized
by authority, which even included little theatrical performances now and
then.

She had become more regular in her studies since her mind had taken a
serious turn, but her heart was less in them than ever. Considering
this, and the deficiencies in the system of instruction itself, it is
hardly surprising that when, in the spring of 1820, her grandmother
fearing that the monastic idea was taking hold of Aurore in good earnest
decided to remove her from the _Couvent des Anglaises_, she knew little
more than when first she had entered it.

CHAPTER II.

GIRLHOOD AND MARRIED LIFE.

Aurore Dupin was now fifteen, and so far, though somewhat peculiarly
situated, she and her life had presented no very extraordinary features,
nor promise of the same. Her energies had flowed into a variety of
channels, and manifestly clever and accustomed to take the lead though
she might be, no one, least of all herself, seems to have thought of
regarding her as a wonder. The Lady Superior of the _Couvent des
Anglaises_, who called her "Still Waters," had perhaps an inkling of
something more than met the eye, existent in this pupil. But a dozen
years were yet to elapse before the moment came when she was to start
life afresh for herself, on a footing of independence and literary
enterprise, and by her first published attempts raise her name at once
above the names of the mass of her fellow-creatures.

Old Madame Dupin, warned by failing health that her end was not far off,
would gladly have first assured a husband's protection for her ward,
whom she had now succeeded in really dissociating from her natural
guardian. The girl's bringing-up, and an almost complete separation for
the last five years, had made a gap--in habits of mind and feeling--such
as could hardly be quite bridged over, between her mother and herself.
But though beginning to be sadly aware of this and of the increasing
violence and asperities of poor Madame Maurice Dupin's temper, w