* * * * * [Sidenote: Of the country.] I am passionately fond of the country; I have, like yourself, all household tastes, home tastes; I love dogs, cats and children above all things. GEORGE SAND: _Letter to M. Jules Janin_, February, 1857, in ‘Letters of George Sand.’ * * * * * [Sidenote: Maternal affection.] Make haste then, and tell me that my family is ... in good health; and, above all, my little Maurice, the little rogue, whom, however, I love more than anything in this world, and but for whom there would be no happiness for me. Does he sleep and eat well? Is he cheerful? Is he quite well? Do not be too indulgent to him, and yet, as much as you can, make him fond of his studies. I know full well that that is no easy task. When I am with him to wipe his eyes, and see him fall asleep in his cot, I do not much mind; but afar, my weakness as a mother is roused, and I am only grieved when I think that he is perhaps crying over his lesson-book. AURORE DUDEVANT: _Letter to M. Jules Boucoiran_, November, 1829, in ‘Letters of George Sand.’ * * * * * I ... long to go back to Berry; for I have children whom I love more than anything else. But for the hope of being some day more useful to them with the scribe’s pen than with the housewife’s needle, I should not part from them so long. AURORE DUDEVANT: _Letter to M. Charles Duvernet_, March, 1831, in ‘Letters of George Sand.’ [Sidenote: Life in Paris with Solange.] * * * * * I am living here like a hermit. My apartment is so nice and warm; it is so light and quiet that I never care to leave it. But, on the other hand, I am all day long bothered with visitors, who are not all very entertaining. It is one of the drawbacks of my calling, and I am obliged to put up with them; but in the evening I shut myself up with my pen and ink, Solange, my piano, and my fire. In their midst I spend some very pleasant hours. The only sounds I hear are the notes of a harp, proceeding I know not whence, and the plashing of a jet of water which plays in the garden under my windows. It is most poetic. Do not laugh about it.... I must tell you that I am coining money. I receive proposals from all directions. I shall sell my next novel for 4,000 francs. GEORGE SAND: _Letter to M. Jules Boucoiran_, December, 1832, in ‘Letters of George Sand.’ * * * * * [Sidenote: In Venice after De-Musset’s departure.]