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Updated: June 23, 2025
But one day the foot of a little playmate profaned this sanctuary, and Aurore sought it no more, while still Corambé was with her everywhere. Although she seems to have always suffered from her mother's inequalities of temper, yet for many years she clung to her, and to the thought of her, with jealous affection.
I had no longer a hope of finding the horses; and, with despairing step, I turned once more in the direction of the thicket. D'Hauteville had arrived before me. As I approached, the quivering gleam enabled me to distinguish his figure. He was standing beside Aurore. He was conversing familiarly with her. I fancied he was polite to her, and that she seemed pleased.
Hadow indignantly repudiates anything that savors of irregularity in the relations of Chopin and Aurore Dudevant. If he honestly believes that their contemporaries flagrantly lied and that the woman's words are to be credited, why by all means let us leave the critic in his Utopia.
I had an unpleasant recollection associated with this name. It was a Marigny of whom Scipio had spoken to me a Marigny who had proposed to purchase Aurore. Of course I remembered the name. "Marigny!" I listened. "So, Marigny, you really intend to bid for her?" asked one. "Qui," replied a young sprig, stylishly and somewhat foppishly dressed.
The old countess of Horn, her grandmother, was a woman of brilliant qualities, but not a very safe guide for a young child. Her ideas were anti-religious, and she was a follower of Rousseau rather than of Christ. When Aurore was fifteen years old, she knew well how to handle a gun, to dance, to ride on horseback, and to use a sword. She was a young Amazon, charming, witty, and yet coarse.
You will see the little girls grown and prettier; the little one is beginning to talk. Aurore chatters and argues. She calls Plauchut, OLD BACHELOR. And a propos, accept the best regards of that fine and splendid boy along with all the affectionate greetings of the family. As for me, I embrace you tenderly and beg you to keep well. G. Sand CLXX. TO GEORGE SAND Croisset, Wednesday evening...1870
Such painful reflections coursed through my mind; but there were others equally bitter, and with bitterness springing from a far different source. What would be the effect of the disclosure? How would it affect our future the future of myself and Aurore? How would Eugenie act? Towards me? towards Aurore her slave? My confession had received no response.
Then he turned, to see Aurore, a distant figure of scarlet and black at the edge of the wood road, shuffling northward on her long snowshoes, northward, as if in pursuit of the sound that had gone before. She raised a mittened hand to him in ironic salutation. She seemed to beckon, north north into the Silence. Crossman shook himself. What was this miasma in his heart?
How this telegraph changes one's idea of life, and when the formalities and formulas are still more simplified, how full existence will be of facts and how free from uncertainties. Aurore, who lives on adorations in the lap of her father and mother and who weeps every day when I am away, has not asked a single time where they are.
I answer simply because the thought occurred to me, that the youth, who so tenderly parted from Aurore, might be a brother, or some near relative. I had not heard of such relationship. It might be so, however; and my heart, reacting from its hour of keen anguish, was eager to relieve itself by any hypothesis. I could not endure doubt longer; and turning on my heel, I hastened below.
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