In 1829, Monsieur and Madame Dudevant passed two months in Bordeaux and at the home of her husband's mother; and on her return to Nohant in July she resumed her quiet home life, restricting the circle of her friends in conformity with her retired tastes. Here they enjoyed the society of her half-brother and his wife. But the period of outward calm and resignation to her condition was fast nearing its term. The relations between the husband and the wife were rapidly growing worse. Among the wife's occupations and diversions of this period were painting and composition. Of the former, Madame Dudevant speaks with enthusiasm later; already, in 1827, she had tried her hand at portrait-painting, for in a letter to her mother she writes: "I send you a profile drawing done from imagination; it is a regular daub. It is well that I should tell you that it is intended as a representation of Caroline. I am the only one who sees a likeness in it.... I also drew my own portrait.... Yet I did not succeed better than with Caroline's.... I laugh in its face on recognizing how pitiable it makes me look, so I dare not send it." And again, early in February, 1830, she sends a portrait of her son to her mother. It is well, as we shall soon see, that Madame Dudevant was so little encouraged by her efforts. Yet of her literary proclivities, which she also indulged by attempts at novel-writing, she was certainly not convinced, and of her ability in this direction still less so. The education of her son Maurice had now become a matter of extreme importance to Madame Dudevant. The boy was six years old, and she was fortunate enough to secure as his tutor Monsieur Jules Boucoiran, of Paris, who later became her trusted friend and the wise counsellor of her son. How carefully Madame Dudevant still concealed her marital wretchedness from even her mother is evidenced in a letter written in December, 1829, in which she says: "What are you doing with my husband? Does he take you to the theatre? Is he cheerful? Is he good-tempered?... Make use of his arm while you can; make him laugh, for he is always as gloomy as an owl while he is in Paris." The crisis which finally separated the husband and wife was brought about by a discovery that wounded the already stricken heart beyond endurance. Monsieur Dudevant had become even brutal in his conduct; he had gone so far as actually to strike his wife.