This slight error cost the _Compagnie Transatlantique_ £48,000 salvage money, and when they wanted to start the ship again and passengers refused to go by it they offered my _impresario_, M. Abbey, excellent terms. He accepted them, and very intelligent he was, for in spite of all prognostications the boat had paid her tribute. I had hitherto traveled very little and I was wild with delight. On the 15th of October, 1880, at six o’clock in the morning, I entered my cabin. It was a large one and hung with light red rep embroidered with my initials. What a profusion of the letters S. B.! Then there was a large brass bedstead brightly polished, and flowers everywhere. Adjoining mine was a very comfortable cabin for my _petite dame_, and leading out of that was one for my maid and her husband. All the other persons I employed were at the other end of the ship. The sky was misty, and the sea gray, with no horizon. I was on my way over there, beyond that mist which seemed to unite the sky and the water in a mysterious rampart. The clearing of the deck for the departure upset everyone and everything. The rumbling of the machinery, the boatswain’s call, the bell, the sobbing and the laughter, the creaking of the ropes, the shrill shouting of the orders, the terror of those who were only just in time to catch the boat, the “Halloo!” “Look out!” of the men who were pitching the packages from the port into the hold, the sound of the laughing waves breaking over the side of the boat, all this mingled together made the most frightful uproar, tiring the brain so that its own sensations were all vague and bewildered. I was one of those who, up to the last moment enjoyed the “Good-bys,” the handshakings, the plans about the return, and the farewell kisses, and when it was all over flung themselves sobbing on their bed. For the next three days I was in utter despair, weeping bitter tears, tears that scalded my cheeks. Then I began to get calm again, my will power triumphed over my grief. On the fourth day I dressed at seven o’clock and went on deck to have some fresh air. It was icy cold and as I walked up and down I met a lady dressed in black with a sad, resigned face. The sea looked gloomy and colorless and there were no waves. Suddenly a wild billow dashed so violently against our boat that we were both thrown down. I immediately clutched hold of the leg of one of the benches, but the unfortunate lady was flung forward. Springing to my feet with a bound I was just in time to seize hold of the skirt of her dress, and with the help of my maid and a sailor, we managed to prevent the poor woman from falling head first down the staircase. Very much hurt, though, she was, and a trifle confused; she thanked me in such a gentle, dreamy voice that my heart began to beat with emotion. “You might have been killed, madame,” I said, “down that horrible staircase.”