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.

"Is there anything I can do to help you through the customs?" then