ch I read
these words, written with the point of a diamond: "You will forget
Henriette." In a moment my thoughts flew back to the time in which
Henriette had written these words, thirteen years ago, and my hair stood
on end. We had been lodged in this room when she separated from me to
return to France. I was overwhelmed, and fell on a chair where I
abandoned myself to deep thought. Noble Henriette, dear Henriette, whom I
had loved so well; where was she now? I had never heard of her; I had
never asked anyone about her. Comparing my present and past estates, I
was obliged to confess that I was less worthy of possessing her now than
then. I could still love, but I was no longer so delicate in my thoughts;
I had not those feelings which justify the faults committed by the
senses, nor that probity which serves as a contrast to the follies and
frailties of man; but, what was worst of all, I was not so strong.
Nevertheless, it seemed that the remembrance of Henriette restored me to
my pristine vigour. I had no longer my housekeeper; I experienced a great
void; and I felt so enthusiastic that if I had known where Henriette was
I should have gone to seek her out, despite her prohibition.

Next day, at an early hour, I went to the banker Tronchin, who had all my
money. After seeing my account, he gave me a letter of credit on
Marseilles, Genoa, Florence and Rome, and I only took twelve thousand
francs in cash. I had only fifty thousand crowns, three hundred francs,
but that would take me a good way. As soon as I had delivered my letters,
I returned to Balances, impatient to see M. de Voltaire.

I found my fellow-traveller in my room. He asked me to dinner, telling me
that I should have M. Vilars-Chandieu, who would take me after dinner to
M. de Voltaire, who had been expecting me for several days. I followed
the worthy man, and found at his house excellent company, and the young
theologian whom the uncle did not address till dessert.

I will endeavour to report as faithfully as possible the young woman's
conversation.

"What have you been doing this morning, my dear niece?"

"I have been reading St. Augustine, whom I thought absurd, and I think I
can refute him very shortly."

"On what point?"

"Concerning the mother of the Saviour."

"What does St. Augustine say?"

"You have no doubt remarked the passage, uncle. He says that the Virgin
Mary conceived Jesus Christ through the ears."

"You do not believe that?"

"