ght, and Sandeau slept the days away. The money soon was gone, and
Madame Dudevant in her new extremity was advised to return to the
chateau Nahant, and endeavor to get a legal separation from her husband,
and an annual allowance. When she set out, she left with Sandeau the
plan of "_Indiana_." They were to divide the chapters of the new story;
but when she came back he had not written a line of his task. To his
great surprise Aurore put into his hands the whole of the manuscript of
the book.

"Read," said she, "and correct!" He read the first chapter, and was full
of praise. "It needs no revision," he said; "it is a master-piece!" He
then declared that as he had not written any of the book, he would not
allow the common name to be used. She was greatly troubled, and had
recourse to the editor. He proposed that she still keep the name of
Sand, but select another first name. "Look in the calendar," said he;
"to-morrow is the day of St. George; take the name of George--call
yourself George Sand!" And this is the origin of that distinguished
name.

"_Indiana_" was purchased for six hundred francs, but it sold so well
that the publisher afterwards gave her a thousand francs more. The
editor of _Figaro_ put two of his critics upon the book to review it.
They both condemned it as mediocre and without much interest. But the
book had a wonderful success, and Paris was thrown into a state of
excitement about the author. The journals added fuel to the fire by
their remarks and criticisms, and at once Madame Dudevant was a great
authoress. She took elegant apartments, where she received the artists
and authors of the gay city, herself arrayed in a man's costume, and she
astonished her male friends by smoking and joking with them like a man.
She was known only by the name of George Sand, and preferred to be
called simply George. She walked the Boulevards in a close fitting
riding coat, over the collar of which fell her dark, luxuriant curls.
She carried in one hand her riding whip and in the other her cigar,
which from time to time she would raise to her mouth. Jules Sandeau was
forgotten, and fled to Italy. In after years George Sand bitterly
repented her neglect of this friend, and she has written very touchingly
in one of her books her repentance. She now wrote two or three other
stories which were caught up eagerly by the publishers. She wrote
against the institution of marriage and the critics at once attacked
her, and with