ith her guardians. It was a _mariage de raison_
founded, as she and he believed, on mutual friendliness; in reality on a
total and fatal ignorance of each other's characters, and probably, on
Aurore's side, of her own as well. She was only just eighteen, and had a
wretched home.

The match was sanctioned by their parents, respectively. In September,
1822, Aurore Dupin became Madame Dudevant, and shortly afterwards she
and her husband established themselves at Nohant, there to settle down
to quiet country life.

If tranquillity did not bring all the happiness that was expected, it
was at least unbroken by such positive trials as those to come, and
whatever was lacking to Madame Dudevant's felicity she forgot for a
while in her joy over the birth of her son Maurice, in the summer of
1823--a son for whom more than ordinary treasures of maternal affection
were in store, and who, when his childhood was past, was to become and
remain until the time of her death a sure consolation and compensation
to her for the troubles of her life.

The first two years after her marriage were spent almost without
interruption in the still monotony of Nohant. "We live here as quietly
as possible," she writes to her mother in June, 1825, "seeing very few
people, and occupying ourselves with rural cares." That absolute
dependence on each other's society that might have had its charm for a
really well-assorted couple was, however, not calculated to prolong any
illusions that might exist as to the perfect harmony of their
dispositions. Already in the summer of 1824 the Dudevants had sought a
change from seclusion in a long visit to their friends the Duplessis,
after which they rented a villa in the environs of Paris for a short
while. The spring found them back at Nohant, and the summer of 1825 was
marked by a tour to the Pyrenees, undertaken in concert with some old
school-fellows of Aurore's, two sisters, who with their father were
starting for Cauterets. The pleasure of girlish friendships renewed gave
double charm to the trip, and her delight in the mountain scenery knew
no bounds.

"I am in such a state of enthusiasm about the Pyrenees," she writes to
her mother, "that I shall dream and talk of nothing but mountains and
torrents, caves and precipices, all the rest of my life." She joined
eagerly in every excursion on foot and horseback, but even moderate
feats of mountaineering, such as are now expected of the quietest
English lady-tour