loved one, you reason beautifully, but will you tell me where you
have managed, in a convent, to pass the Rubicon?"

"Yes. My friend has given me some good books which I have read with deep
attention, and the light of truth has dispelled the darkness which
blinded my eyes. I can assure you that, when I look in my own heart, I
find myself more fortunate in having met with a person who has brought
light to my mind than miserable at having taken the veil; for the
greatest happiness must certainly consist in living and in dying
peacefully--a happiness which can hardly be obtained by listening to all
the idle talk with which the priests puzzle our brains."

"I am of your opinion, but I admire you, for it ought to be the work of
more than a few months to bring light to a mind prejudiced as yours was."

"There is no doubt that I should have seen light much sooner if I had not
laboured under so many prejudices. There was in my mind a curtain
dividing truth from error, and reason alone could draw it aside, but that
poor reason--I had been taught to fear it, to repulse it, as if its
bright flame would have devoured, instead of enlightening me. The moment
it was proved to me that a reasonable being ought to be guided only by
his own inductions I acknowledged the sway of reason, and the mist which
hid truth from me was dispelled. The evidence of truth shone before my
eyes, nonsensical trifles disappeared, and I have no fear of their
resuming their influence over my mind, for every day it is getting
stronger; and I may say that I only began to love God when my mind was
disabused of priestly superstitions concerning Him."

"I congratulate you; you have been more fortunate than I, for you have
made more progress in one year than I have made in ten."

"Then you did not begin by reading the writings of Lord Bolingbroke? Five
or six months ago, I was reading La Sagesse, by Charron, and somehow or
other my confessor heard of it; when I went to him for confession, he
took upon himself to tell me to give up reading that book. I answered
that my conscience did not reproach me, and that I could not obey him.
'In that case,' replied he, 'I will not give you absolution.' 'That will
not prevent me from taking the communion,' I said. This made him angry,
and, in order to know what he ought to do, he applied to Bishop Diedo.
His eminence came to see me, and told me that I ought to be guided by my
confessor. I answered that we had mutual duties