e　right　in　saying；　later　on；　that　it　was　of　no　use　seeking　any　intellectual　reason　as　the　explanation　of　her　social　preferences。　　Everything　in　her　was　due　to　sentiment。　　Her　socialism　was　entirely　the　outcome　of　her　suffering　and　torments　as　a　child。
  Things　had　to　come　to　a　crisis；　and　the　crisis　was　atrocious。　　George　Sand　gives　an　account　of　the　tragic　scene　in　her　_Histoire　de　ma　vie_。　　Her　grandmother　had　already　had　one　attack　of　paralysis。　　She　was　anxious　about　Aurore's　future；　and　wished　to　keep　her　from　the　influence　of　her　mother。　　She　therefore　decided　to　employ　violent　means　to　this　end。　　She　sent　for　the　child　to　her　bedside；　and；　almost　beside　herself；　in　a　choking　voice；　she　revealed　to　her　all　that　she　ought　to　have　concealed。　　She　told　her　of　Sophie…Victoire's　past；　she　uttered　the　fatal　word　and　spoke　of　the　child's　mother　as　a　lost　woman。　　With　Aurore's　extreme　sensitiveness；　it　was　horrible　to　receive　such　confidences　at　the　age　of　thirteen。　　Thirty　years　later；　George　Sand　describes　the　anguish　of　the　terrible　minute。　　〃It　was　a　nightmare；〃　she　says。　　〃I　felt　choked；　and　it　was　as　though　every　word　would　kill　me。　　The　perspiration　came　out　on　my　face。　　I　wanted　to　interrupt　her；　to　get　up　and　rush　away。　　I　did　not　want　to　hear　the　frightful　accusation。　　I　could　not　move；　though；　I　seemed　to　be　nailed　on　my　knees；　and　my　head　seemed　to　be　bowed　down　by　that　voice　that　I　heard　above　me；　a　voice　which　seemed　to　wither　me　like　a　storm　wind。〃
  It　seems　extraordinary　that　a　woman；　who　was　in　reality　so　kind…hearted　and　so　wise；　should　have　allowed　herself　to　be　carried　away　like　this。　　Passion　has　these　sudden　and　unexpected　outbursts；　and　we　see　here　a　most　significant　proof　of　the　atmosphere　of　passion　in　which　the　child　had　lived；　and　which　gradually　insinuated　itself　within　her。
  Under　these　circumstances；　Aurore's　departure　for　the　convent　was　a　deliverance。　　Until　just　recently；　there　has　always　been　a　convent　in　vogue　in　France　in　which　it　has　been　considered　necessary　for　girls　in　good　society　to　be　educated。　　In　1817；　_the　Couvent　des　Anglaises_　was　in　vogue；　the　very　convent　which　had　served　as　a　prison　for　the　mother　and　grandmother　of　Aurore。　　The　three　years　she　spent　there　in　that　〃big　feminine　family；　where　every　one　was　as　kind　as　God；〃　she　considered　the　most　peaceful　and　happy　time　of　her　life。　　The　pages　she　devotes　to　them　in　her　_Histoire　de　ma　vie_　have　all　the　freshness　of　an　oasis。　　She　describes　most　lovingly　this　little　world；　apart；　exclusive　and　self…sufficing；　in　which　life　was　so　intense。
  The　house　consisted　of　a　number　of　constructions；　and　was　situated　in　the　neighbourhood　given　up　to　convents。　　There　were　courtyards　and　gardens　enough　to　make　it　seem　like　a　small　village。　　There　was　also　a　labyrinth　of　passages　above　and　underground；　just　as　in　one　of　Anne　Radcliffe's　novels。　　There　were　old　walls　overgrown　with　vine　and　jasmine。　　The　cock　could　be　heard　at　midnight；　just　as　in　the　heart　of　the　country；　and　there　was　a　bell　with　a　silvery　tone　like　a　woman's　voice。　　From　her　little　cell；　Aurore　looked　over　the　tops　of　the　great　chestnut　trees　on　to　Paris；　so　that　the　air　so　necessary　for　the　lungs　of　a　child　accustomed　to　wanderings　in　the　country　was　not　lacking　in　her　convent　home。　　The　pupils　had　divided　themselves　into　three　categories：　　the　_diables_；　the　good　girls；　who　were　the　specially　pious　ones；　and　the　silly　ones。　　Aurore　took　her　place　at　once　among　the　_diables_。　　The　great　exploit　of　these　convent　girls　consisted　in　descending　into　the　cellars；　during　recreation；　and　in　sounding　the　walls；　in　order　to　〃deliver　the　victim。〃　　There　was　supposed　to　be　an　unfortunate　victim　imprisoned　and　tortured　by　the　good；　kindhearted　Sisters。　　Alas！　all　the　_diables_　sworn　to　the　task　in　the　_Couvent　des　Anglaises_　never　succeeded　in　finding　the　victim；　so　that　she　must　be　there　still。
  Very　soon；　though；　a　sudden　change…took　place　in　Aurore's　soul。　　It　would　have　been　strange　had　it　been　otherwise。　　With　so　extraordinarily　sensitive　an　organization；　the　new　and　totally　different　surroundings　could　not　fail　to　make　an　impression。　　The　cloister；　the　cemetery；　the　long　services；　the　words　of　the　ritual；　murmured　in　the　dimly…lighted　chapel；　and　the　piety　that　seems　to　hover　in　the　air　in　houses　where　many　prayers　have　been　offered　up　all　this　acted　on　the　young　girl。　　One　evening　in　August；　she　had　gone　into　the　church；　which　was　dimly　lighted　by　the　sanctuary　lamp。　　Through　the　open　window　came　the　perfume　of　honeysuckle　and　the　songs　of　the　birds。　　There　was　a　charm；　a　mystery　and　a　solemn　calm　about　everything；　such　as　she　had　never　before　experienced。　　〃I　do　not　know　what　was　taking　place　within　me；〃　she　said；　when　describing　this；　later　on；　〃but　I　breathed　an　atmosphere　that　was　indescribably　delicious；　and　I　seemed　to　be　breathing　it　in　my　very　soul。　　Suddenly；　I　felt　a　shock　through　all　my　being；　a　dizziness　came　over　me；　and　I　seemed　to　be　enveloped　in　a　white　light。　　I　thought　I　heard　a　voice　murmuring　in　my　ear：　　_‘Tolle　Lege。'_　I　turned　round；　and　saw　that　I　was　quite　alone。　。　。　。〃
  Our　modern　_psychiatres_　would　say　that　she　had　had　an　hallucination　of　hearing；　together　with　olfactory　trouble。　　I　prefer　saying　that　she　had　received　the　visit　of　grace。　　Tears　of　joy　bathed　her　face　and　she　remained　there；　sobbing　for　a　long　time。
  The　convent　had　therefore　opened　to　Aurore　another　world　of　sentiment；　that　of　Christian　emotion。　　Her　soul　was　naturally　religious；　and　the　dryness　of　a　philosophical　education　had　not　been　sufficient　for　it。　　The　convent　had　now　brought　her　the　aliment　for　which　she　had　instinctively　longed。　　Later　on；　when　her　faith；　which　had　never　been　very　enlightened；　left　her；　the　sentiment　remained。　　This　religiosity；　of　Christian　form；　was　essential　to　George　Sand。
  The　convent　also　rendered　her　another　eminent　service。　　In　the　_Histoire　de　ma　vie_；　George　Sand　retraces　from　memory　the　portraits　of　several　of　the　Sisters。　　She　tells　us　of　Madame　Marie…Xavier；　and　of　her　despair　at　having　taken　the　vows；　of　Sister　Anne…Joseph；　who　was　as　kind　as　an　angel　and　as　silly　as　a　goose；　of　the　gentle　Marie…Alicia；　whose　serene　soul　looked　out　of　her　blue　eyes；　a　mirror　of　purity；　and　of　the　mystical　Sister　Helene；　who　had　left　home　in　spite　of　her　family；　in　spite　of　the　supplications　and　the　sobs　of　her　mother　and　sisters；　and　who　had　passed　over　the　body　of　a　child　on　her　way　to　God。　　It　is　like　this　always。　　The　costumes　are　the　same；　the　hands　are　clasped　in　the　same　manner；　the　white　bands　and　the　faces　look　equally　pale；　but　underneath　this　apparent　uniformity　what　contrasts！　　It　is　the　inner　life　which　marks　the　differences　so　vigorously；　and　shows　up　the　originality　of　each　one。　　Aurore　gradually　discovered　the　diversity　of　all　these　souls　and　the　beauty　of　each　one。　　She　thought　of　becoming　a　nun；　but　her　confessor　did　not　advise　this；　and　he　was　certainly　wise。　　Her　grandmother；　who　had　a　philosopher's　opinion　of　priests；　blamed　their　fanaticism；　and　took　her　little　granddaughter　away　from　the　convent。　　Perhaps　she　felt　the　need　of　affection　for　the　few　months　she　had　still　to　live。　　At　any　rate；　she　certainly　had　this　affection。　　One　of　the　first　results　of　the　larger　perspicacity　which　Aurore　had　acquired　at　the　convent　was　to　make　her　understand　her　grandmother　at　last。　　She　was　able　now　to　grasp　the　complex　nature　of　her　relative　and　to　see　the　delicacy　hidden　under　an　appearance　of　great　reserve。　　She　knew　now　all　that　she　owed　to　her　grandmother；　but　unfortunately　it　was　one　of　those　discoveries　which　are　made　too　late。
  The　eighteen　months　which　Aurore　now　passed　at　Nohant；　until　the　death　of　her　grandmother；　are　very　important　as　regards　her　psychological　biography。　　She　was　seventeen　years　old；　and　a　girl　who　was　eager　to　live　and　very　emotional。　　She　had　first　been　a　child　of　Nature。　　Her　convent　life　had　taken　her　away　from　Nature　and　accustomed　her　to　falling　back　on　her　own　thoughts。　　Nature　now　took　her　back　once　more；　and　her　beloved　Nohant　feted　her　return。
  〃The　trees　were　in　flower；〃　she　says；　〃the　nightingales　were　singing；　and；　in　the　distance；　I　could　hear　the　classic；　solemn　sound　of　the　labourers。　　My　old　friends；　the　big　dogs；　who　had　growled　at　me　the　evening　before；　recognized　me　again　and　were　profuse　in　their　caresses。　。　。　。〃
  She　wanted　to　see　everything　again。　　The　things　themselves　had　not　changed；　but　her　way　of　looking　at　them　now　was　different。　　During　her　long；　solitary　walks　every　morning；　she　enjoyed　seeing　the　various　landscapes；　sometimes　melancholy…looking　and　sometimes　delightful。　　She　enjoyed；　too；　the　picturesqueness　of　the　various　things　she　met；　the　flocks　of　cattle；　the　birds　taking　their　flight；　and　even　the　sound　of　the　horses'　feet　splashing　in　the　water。　　She　enjoyed　everything；　in　a　kind　of　voluptuous　reverie　which　was　no　longer　instinctive；　but　conscious　and　a　trifle　morbid。
  Added　to　all　this；　her　reading　at　this　epoch　was　without　any　order　or　method。　　She　read　everything　voraciously；　mixing　all　the　philosophers　up　together。　　She　read　Locke；　Condillac；　Montesquieu；　Bossuet；　Pascal；　Montaigne；　but　she　kept　Rousseau　apart　from　the　others。　　She　devoured　the　books　of　the　moralists　and