relatives as guardians; but the mother now insisted on her own rights,
and, after much acrimonious dispute and comment, carried Aurore from her
beloved solitudes to her own quarters in Paris,--a journey of sorrow,
and the beginning of sorrows. In her childhood Aurore had often longed
for this mother's breast as her natural refuge, and the true home of her
childish affections. But it "was one of those characters of self-will
and passion which deteriorate in later life, and in which no new moral
beauties spring up to replace the impulsive graces of youth. Regarding
Aurore now as the work of another's hands, she made her the victim of
ceaseless and causeless petulance. Her gross abuse of her mother-in-law
gave Aurore many tears to shed in private, while her persecution of poor
Deschartres drove her daughter to the expedient of shielding him--with
a lie. The poor tutor had administered the affairs of Nohant for some
time. He was now called to account for every farthing with the most
malignant accuracy, and a sum of money, lost by ill-management, not
being satisfactorily accounted for, his new tormentor threatened him
with prison and trial. As he muttered to his late pupil that he would
not survive this disgrace, she stepped forward and shielded him after
the fashion of Consuelo.

"I have received this money," said she.

"You? Impossible! What have you done with it?"

"No matter, I have received it."

Deschartres was saved, and Aurore had only availed herself of the first
of a Frenchwoman's privileges. Nor will we reckon with her too harshly
for this lie, so benevolent in intention, so merciful in effect. A lie
sometimes seems the only refuge of the oppressed; but there is always