The vibration of the monster ship increased to a strong, electric pulsation, the water hummed along her sides, she felt the swell of the open sea.  A fine rain began to fall that hid the land—­yes, and the life I was leaving.  I made my way across the glistening deck to the saloon where, my newspapers and periodicals neglected, I sat all the morning beside a window gazing out at the limited, vignetted zone of waters around the ship.  We were headed for the Old World.  The wind rose, the rain became pelting, mingling with the spume of the whitecaps racing madly past:  within were warmth and luxury, electric lights, open fires, easy chairs, and men and women reading, conversing as unconcernedly as though the perils of the deep had ceased to be.  In all this I found an impelling interest; the naive capacity in me for wonder, so long dormant, had been marvellously opened up once more.  I no longer thought of myself as the important man of affairs; and when in the progress of the voyage I was accosted by two or three men I had met and by others who had heard of me it was only to feel amazement at the remoteness I now felt from a world whose realities were stocks and bonds, railroads and corporations and the detested new politics so inimical to the smooth conduct of “business.”

It all sounded like a language I had forgotten.

It was not until near the end of the passage that we ran out of the storm.  A morning came when I went on deck to survey spaces of a blue and white sea swept by the white March sunlight; to discern at length against the horizon toward which we sped a cloud of the filmiest and most delicate texture and design.  Suddenly I divined that the cloud was France!  Little by little, as I watched, it took on substance.  I made out headlands and cliffs, and then we were coasting beside them.  That night I should be in Paris with Maude.  My bag was packed, my steamer trunk closed.  I strayed about the decks, in and out of the saloons, wondering at the indifference of other passengers who sat reading in steamer-chairs or wrote last letters to be posted at Havre.  I was filled with impatience, anticipation, yes, with anxiety concerning the adventure that was now so imminent; with wavering doubts.  Had I done the wisest thing after all?  I had the familiar experience that often comes just before reunion after absence of recalling intimate and forgotten impressions of those whom I was about to see again the tones of their voices, little gestures....

How would they receive me?

The great ship had slowed down and was entering the harbour, carefully threading her way amongst smaller craft, the passengers lining the rails and gazing at the animated scene, at the quaint and cheerful French city bathed in sunlight....  I had reached the dock and was making my way through the hurrying and shifting groups toward the steamer train when I saw Maude.  She was standing a little aside, scanning the faces that passed her.