due deliberation, Ralph and Indiana decide to commit suicide, but they have to agree about the kind of death they will die.  Ralph considers that this is a matter of certain importance.  He does not care to kill himself in Paris; there are too many people about, so that there is no tranquillity.  The Isle of Bourbon seems to him a pleasant place for a suicide.  There was a magnificent horizon there; then, too, there was a precipice and a waterfall. . . .

Ralph’s happy ideas are somewhat sinister, but the couple set out nevertheless for the Isle of Bourbon in search of a propitious waterfall.  A sea-voyage, under such circumstances, would be an excellent preparation.  When once there, they carry out their plans, and Ralph gives his beloved wise advice at the last moment.  She must not jump from the side, as that would be bad.  “Throw yourself into the white line that the waterfall makes,” he says.  “You will then reach the lake with that, and the torrent will plunge you in.”  This sounds enticing.

Such a suicide was considered infinitely poetical at that epoch, and every one pitied Indiana in her troubles.  It is curious to read such books calmly a long time afterwards, books which reflect so exactly the sentiments of a certain epoch.  It is curious to note how the point of view has changed, and how people and things appear to us exactly the reverse of what they appeared to the author and to contemporaries.

As a matter of fact, the only interesting person in all this is Colonel Delmare, or, at any rate, he is the only one of whom Indiana could not complain.  He loved her, and he loved no one else but her.  The like cannot be said for Indiana.  Few husbands would imitate his patience and forbearance, and he certainly allowed his wife the most extraordinary freedom.  At one time we find, a young man in Indiana’s bedroom, and at another time Indiana in a young man’s bedroom.  Colonel Delmare receives Raymon at his house in a friendly way, and he tolerates the presence of the sempiternal Ralph in his home.  What more can be asked of a husband than to allow his wife to have a man friend and a cousin?  Indiana declares that Colonel Delmare has struck her, and that the mark is left on her face.  She exaggerated, though, as we know quite well what took place.  In reality all this was at Plessis-Picard.  Delmare-Dudevant struck Indiana-Aurore.  This was certainly too much, but there was no blood shed.  As to the other personages, Raymon is a wretched little rascal, who was first the lover of Indiana’s maid.  He next made love to poor Noun’s mistress, and then deserted her to make a rich marriage.  Ralph plunges Indiana down a precipice.  That was certainly bad treatment for the woman he loved.  As regards Indiana, George Sand honestly believed that she had given her all the charms imaginable.  As a matter of fact, she did charm the readers of that time.  It is from this model that we have one of the favourite types of woman in literature for the next twenty years—­the misunderstood woman.