FRANÇOIS THE WAIF BY GEORGE SAND TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY JANE MINOT SEDGWICK WITH AN ETCHING BY E. ABOT NEW-YORK GEORGE H. RICHMOND & CO. 1894 CONTENTS PREFATORY NOTE PREFACE INTRODUCTION CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III CHAPTER IV CHAPTER V CHAPTER VI CHAPTER VII CHAPTER VIII CHAPTER IX CHAPTER X CHAPTER XI CHAPTER XII CHAPTER XIII CHAPTER XIV CHAPTER XV CHAPTER XVI CHAPTER XVII CHAPTER XVIII CHAPTER XIX CHAPTER XX CHAPTER XXI CHAPTER XXII CHAPTER XXIII CHAPTER XXIV CHAPTER XXV PREFATORY NOTE François le Champi, a pretty idyl that tells of homely affections, self-devotion, "humble cares and delicate fears," opens a little vista into that Arcadia to which, the poet says, we were all born. It offers many difficulties to the translator. It is a rustic tale, put into the mouths of peasants, who relate it with a primitive simplicity, sweet and full of sentiment in the French, but prone to degenerate into mawkishness and monotony when turned into English. Great care has been taken to keep the English of this version simple and idiomatic, and yet religiously to avoid any breach of faith toward the author. It is hoped that, though the original pure and limpid waters have necessarily contracted some stain by being forced into another channel, they may yet yield refreshment to those thirsty souls who cannot seek them at the fountain-head. J. M. S. _Stockbridge, January, 1894._ PREFACE FRANÇOIS LE CHAMPI appeared for the first time in the _feuilleton_ of the "Journal des Débats." Just as the plot of my story was reaching its development, another more serious development was announced in the first column of the same newspaper. It was the final downfall of the July Monarchy, in the last days of February, 1848. This catastrophe was naturally very prejudicial to my story, the publication of which was interrupted and delayed, and not finally completed, if I remember correctly, until the end of a month. For those of my readers who are artists either by profession or instinct, and are interested in the details of the construction of works of art, I shall add to my introduction that, some days before the conversation of which that introduction is the outcome, I took a walk through the _Chemin aux Napes_. The word _nape_, which, in the figurative language of that part of the country, designates the beautiful plant called _nénufar_, or _nymphææ_, is happily descriptive of the broad leaves that lie upon the surface of the water, as a cloth (_nappe_) upon a table; but I prefer to write it with a single _p_, and to trace its derivation from _napée_, thus leaving unchanged its mythological origin.