“I resolutely,” she says in the “Histoire de ma Vie,” “put all precept and example out of my mind, and neither sought in others, nor in my own individuality, a type or character. Of course it has been said that Indiana was me, and her history mine. She was nothing of the kind. I have drawn many different female personations, but I think when the world reads this confession of my impressions and reflections, it will see that none of them are intended for my own portrait. I am too elevated in my views to see a heroine of romance in my mirror. I never found myself handsome enough nor amiable enough to be either poetic or interesting; it would have seemed to me as impossible to dramatise my life, as to embellish my person.” “Indiana” was signed for the first time by her _nom de plume_ George Sand. Her former romance, “Rose et Blanche,” had been written in collaboration with M. Jules Sandeau. It appeared under the name of Jules Sand. When “Indiana” was finished Delatouche, who undertook to publish it, advised its authoress to change the name of Jules to George. She did so, and henceforth in literature and society was known by no other name but George Sand. “Indiana” was a genuine success, and made a considerable stir in Paris. The imperfections of its construction were forgiven for the eloquence of its passion and the beauty of its style; and the only words on every one’s lips for some days after its appearance, were, “Have you read ‘Indiana’? You must read ‘Indiana.’” Even her severe friend Delatouche was stirred out of his critical frame of mind. She describes his clambering up to her garret, and finding a copy of “Indiana” lying on the table. “He took it up, and opened it contemptuously. I wished to keep him from the subject and spoke about other things, but he would read on, and kept calling out at each page: ‘Come, it is a copy! Nothing but a copy of Balzac.’ I had neither sought nor avoided an imitation of the great novelist’s style, and felt that although the book had been written under his influence, it was unjust to say it was a copy. I let him carry away the volume, hoping he would rescind his judgment. Next morning on awaking I received the following letter: “‘GEORGE,—I beg your pardon; I am at your feet. Forgive the insulting observations I made last night. Forgive all that I have said to you for the last six months. I have spent the night reading your book. Ah, my child! How proud I am of you!’” The following extract from one of her letters written after the publication of “Indiana” shows how modest she remained in the midst of her success: “The popularity of my book frightens me. Up to this moment I have worked inconsequently, convinced that anything I produced would pass unnoticed. Fate has ordained otherwise. I must try to justify the undeserved admiration of which I am the object.