She remained there a year, when her destiny was changed by some domestic events which made her services necessary to her parents, and she returned home.  Her resolution was unchanged, and she read and meditated deeply upon the Philotee of Saint Francis de Sales, upon the manual of Saint Augustine, and upon the polemical writings of Bossuet.  But by this time the leaven of dissent began to work in that powerful intellect, for she remarks upon these works, that “favorable as they are to the cause which they defended, they sometimes let me into the secret of objections which might be made to it, and set me to scrutinizing the articles of my faith;” and she states that “this was the first step toward a skepticism at which I was destined to arrive after having been successively Jansenist, Cartesian, Stoic, and Deist.”  By this skepticism she doubtless meant merely skepticism as to creeds, for in her memoirs, written in daily expectation of death, and in most intense self-communion, she writes upon the great subjects of immortality, Deity, and providence in language of astonishing eloquence.  “Can,” she writes, “can the sublime idea of a Divine Creator, whose providence watches over the world, the immateriality of the soul and its immortality, that consolatory hope of persecuted virtue, be nothing more than amiable and splendid chimeras?  But in how much obscurity are these difficult problems involved?  What accumulated objections arise when we wish to examine them with mathematical rigor?  No! it is not given to the human mind to behold these truths in the full day of perfect evidence; but why should the man of sensibility repine at not being able to demonstrate what he feels to be true?  In the silence of the closet and the dryness of discussion, I can agree with the atheist or the materialist as to the insolubility of certain questions; but in the contemplation of nature my soul soars aloft to the, vivifying principle which animates it, to the intellect which pervades it, and to the goodness which makes it so glorious.  Now, when immense walls separate me from all I love, when all the evils of society have fallen upon us together, as if to punish us for having desired its greatest blessings, I see beyond the limits of life the reward of our sacrifices.  How, in what manner, I can not say.  I only feel that so it ought to be.”  She read incongruously.  Condillac, Voltaire, the Lives of the Fathers, Descartes, Saint Jerome, Don Quixote, Pascal, Montesquieu, Burlamaqui, and the French dramatists, were read, annotated, and commented on.  She gives an appalling list of obsolete devotional books, which she borrowed of a pious abbe, and returned with marginal notes which shocked him.  She read the Dictionnaire Philosophique, Diderot, D’Alembert, Raynal, Holbach, and took delight in the Epistles of Saint Paul.  She was, while studying Malebranche and Descartes, so convinced, that she considered her kitten, when it mewed, merely a piece of mechanism in the exercise of its functions.  The chilling negations and arid skepticism of Helvetius shocked her, and she writes:  “I felt myself possessed of a generosity of soul of which he denied the existence.”  She concluded at this time that a republic is the true form of government, and that every other form is in derogation of man’s natural rights.