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?”

“Certainly not, and for three good reasons.  In the first place because God, being immaterial, had no need of a hole to go in or come out by; in the second place, because the ear has no connection with the womb; and in the third place, because Mary, if she had conceived by the ear, would have given birth by the same channel.  This would do well enough for the Catholics,” said she, giving me a glance, “as then they would be reasonable in calling her a virgin before her conception, during her pregnancy, and after she had given birth to the child.”

I was extremely astonished, and my astonishment was shared by the other guests.  Divine theology rises above all fleshly considerations, and after what we had heard we had either to allow her this privilege, or to consider the young theologian as a woman without shame.  The learned niece did not seem to care what we thought, as she asked for my opinion on the matter.

“If I were a theologian and allowed myself an exact examination into the miracles, it is possible I should be of your opinion; but as this is by no means the case, I must limit myself to condemning St. Augustine for having analysed the mystery of the Annunciation.  I may say, however, that if the Virgin had been deaf, St. Augustine would have been guilty of a manifest absurdity, since the Incarnation would have been an impossibility, as in that case the nerves of the ear would have had no sort of communication with the womb, and the process would have been inconceivable; but the Incarnation is a miracle.”