cries of admiration, and the fair
philosopher enjoyed seeing me laugh for pleasure at the applause. The
pastor wept for joy, and whispered something to Helen's mother. All at
once he turned to me, saying,--

"Ask my niece some question."

"Yes," said Hedvig, "but it must be something quite new."

"That is a hard task," I replied, "for how am I to know that what I ask
is new to you? However, tell me if one must stop at the first principle
of a thing one wants to understand."

"Certainly, and the reason is that in God there is no first principle,
and He is therefore incomprehensible."

"God be praised! that is how I would have you answer. Can God have any
self-consciousness?"

"There my learning is baffled. I know not what to reply. You should not
ask me so hard a thing as that."

"But you wished for something new. I thought the newest thing would be to
see you at a loss."

"That's prettily said. Be kind enough to reply for me, gentlemen, and
teach me what to say."

Everybody tried to answer, but nothing was said worthy of record. Hedvig
at last said,--

"My opinion is that since God knows all, He knows of His own existence,
but you must not ask me how He knows it."

"That's well said," I answered; and nobody could throw any further light
on the matter.

All the company looked on me as a polite Atheist, so superficial is the
judgment of society, but it did not matter to me whether they thought me
an Atheist or not.

M. de Ximenes asked Hedvig if matter had been created.

"I cannot recognize the word 'created,'" she replied. "Ask me whether
matter was formed, and I shall reply in the affirmative. The word
'created' cannot have existence, for the existence of anything must be
prior to the word which explains it."

"Then what meaning do you assign to the word 'created'?"

"Made out of nothing. You see the absurdity, for nothing must have first
existed. I am glad to see you laugh. Do you think that nothingness could
be created?"

"You are right."

"Not at all, not at all," said one of the guests, superciliously.

"Kindly tell me who was your teacher?" said M. de Ximenes.

"My uncle there."

"Not at all, my dear niece. I certainly never taught you what you have
been telling us to-day. But my niece, gentlemen, reads and reflects over
what she has read, perhaps with rather too much freedom, but I love her
all the same, because she always ends by acknowledging that she knows
nothing."

A lady who h