In the morning he saw them off with a heavy heart. His father's last kind words, Allan's affectionate greeting, Nettie's tears, and his promise to his mother that he would remember his prayers and daily chapter in the Bible, and would try to make his travels a useful, profitable study, and to keep himself truthful, honest, and kind, were mixed up with a hearty, homesick longing to go after them. His eyes filled with tears as the stretch of water between him and his dear ones rapidly widened; he turned from the wharf with a sorrowful face, slowly and sadly retracing his steps to the hotel. "How dismal it will be! how lonely and dismal without them!" He thought and murmured sorrowfully,-- "Alone, alone, all, all alone!" CHAPTER VII. UNDER THE SEA. Eric had been but a few minutes in the parlor at the hotel, and was trying to amuse himself with little Froll, when there came a tap upon the door, and the servant entered with a card. Eric read the name, EMIL LACELLE, and written underneath, _No. 365 Vyverberg House._ "Who in the world," thought Eric, "is Emil Lacelle? and what did he send this to me for?" The waiter explained that the gentleman was waiting, in his room, up stairs; and Eric, with Froll on his shoulder, started for No. 365. The door stood open, disclosing a pleasant room, with various kinds of odd-looking armor lying around: seated by a table was a gentleman dressed in black, whom Eric recognized at once as the one whose glasses Froll had stolen. This gentleman was looking for Eric, and said at once, when he entered the room,-- "I am pleased to see you, monsieur," and politely requested him to be seated. "Do you speak French?" he asked. "Not very well, sir," answered Eric. "German?" inquired the stranger. "Yes, sir," said Eric. "And English?" "Yes, sir; I am an American." "I am a Frenchman," said Mr. Lacelle. "I want you, if you please, to do me a little service." "I will do anything that I can for you," said Eric. "I am very much obliged to you already for being so good-natured about your glasses." "Do not mention it!" Mr. Lacelle exclaimed, with the natural politeness of a Frenchman. "I have taken quite a fancy to your playful little beast." And he coaxed the monkey to him, and gently stroked her soft hair. "What is it that I can do for you, sir?" asked Eric. He was beginning to like Mr. Lacelle very much. "I have a letter to write to America, and am not enough of an English scholar to undertake it. Now, therefore, if I tell to you that which I want written, would you be so very kind, if you please, as to write for me, it?" "Yes, indeed; with much pleasure," said Eric; thinking the while, "No wonder he does not like to undertake a letter in English, when he speaks the language so clumsily."