“This is good-bye, mon enfant, for I leave the ship at dawn with the tug, so that I do avoid those reporters from newspapers and the contract conspirators.  I have advised Nannette that you go to the Ritz-Carlton to await your Uncle if he be not upon the dock.  I go to the grain fields of Canada and then to the West of America....  I would that it could be au revoir.  Upon a day that shall come, beautiful lady, perhaps it will be permitted to me to... Non, vive la France!  A lies vite, cherie ... go while I—­I—­Vive la France!”

And tears came across my eyes as I did his bidding and left him—­to France.  In my heart was a desire to cling to him in a great fear at being alone to care for the good Nannette and the small Pierre, but I knew he must travel fast and far on his quest and that for France I must let him go without—­a backward look.  Would I find in the great land of America such another gallant gentleman to care for the fate of the small Pierre and Nannette and me?  What did I know of this cruel Uncle?  Nothing but his hardness of heart.  I dreaded the sight of him that I should find upon the arrival of the ship at the dock, which would be an answer to the letter I had sent to him to inform him of my coming, and I spent my long night in hate of him.

With the arrival of the morning came more mines that exploded for me under the waves of my life that had danced with so little concern through the days upon the ship.  A rain was falling and my friend of France was gone from me at the beginning of day in a boat that is called tug.  Upon Nannette had fallen a rheumatism and the small Pierre was in the midst of shivering chills when we at last were permitted by the very unpleasant officer of America to go from the ship.

“Helas, it was all of the gold that he took from me for an entry into this savage land where one piece of money is as five of that of France.  There remains but a few sous and a gold piece,” sobbed Nannette as she came from her interview with the immigration officer while I stood beside Pierre, deposited by a deck steward on a pile of our steamer blankets.

“Did it take all—­all of the money to land, Nannette?  Not all!” I cried as I stretched out my hand to her.  I did not know as I now do, that the money would have been returned to Nannette had she waited with patience and not made a hurry of returning to her nurslings.

“All, Mademoiselle,” were the words with which she answered me, and for some very long moments I stood dazed and struggled in the waves of that adventure I had thought to be life.

“I beg your pardon, Marquise, but here is a letter the dock steward failed to find you to deliver,” came in the pleasant voice of that Mr. William Raines as he raised a very fine hat that made him much better to look upon than the cap of the steamer, and handed me a large letter.  I took it and came with my head out from under the wave which had dashed over me.