she left her mother, the separation was heartrending. When she was
absent from her, she suffered on account of this absence, and still more
because she fancied that she would be forgotten. She loved her mother,
just as she was, and the idea that any one was hostile or despised her
caused the child much silent suffering. It was as though she had an
ever-open wound.

Another consequence, and by no means the least important one, was to
determine in a certain sense the immense power of sympathy within her.
For a long time she only felt a sort of awe, when with her reserved and
ceremonious grandmother. She felt nearer to her mother, as there was
no need to be on ceremony with her. She took a dislike to all those who
represented authority, rules and the tyranny of custom. She considered
her mother and herself as oppressed individuals. A love for the people
sprang up in the heart of the daughter of Sophie-Victoire. She belonged
to them through her mother, and she was drawn to them now through the
humiliations she underwent. In this little enemy of reverences and of
society people, we see the dawn of that instinct which, later on, was to
cause her to revolt openly. George Sand was quite 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