I glanced in the direction of my porthole and saw a small steamer, black with people, and then two other small boats no less laden than the first one. The sun lighted up all these French flags and my heart began to beat more quickly. I had been without any news for twelve days, as, in spite of all the efforts of our good captain, _L’Amérique_ had taken twelve days for the journey. A man had just come on deck, and I rushed toward him with outstretched hands unable to utter a single word. He gave me a packet of telegrams. I did not see anyone present, and I heard no sound. I wanted to know something. And among all the telegrams I was searching first for one, just one name. At last I had it, the telegram I had waited for, feared and hoped to receive. Here it was at last. I closed my eyes for a second, and during that time I saw all that was dear to me and felt the infinite sweetness of it all. When I opened my eyes again I was slightly embarrassed for I was surrounded by a crowd of unknown people, all of them silent and indulgent, but evidently very curious. Wishing to go away I took Mr. Jarrett’s arm and went to the salon. As soon as I entered, the first notes of the “Marseillaise” rang out, and our consul spoke a few words of welcome and handed me some flowers. A group representing the French colony presented me with a friendly address. Then M. Mercier, the editor of the _Courrier des Etats-Unis_, made a speech, as witty as it was kindly. It was a thoroughly French speech. Then came the terrible moment of introductions. Oh, what a tiring time that was! My mind was kept at a tension to catch the names. Mr. Pemb ... Madame Harth ... with the _h_ aspirated. With great difficulty I grasped the first syllable, and the second finished in a confusion of muffled vowels and hissing consonants. By the time the twentieth name was pronounced I had given up listening, I simply kept on with my little _risorius de Santorini_, half closed my eyes, held out mechanically the arm, at the end of which was the hand that had to shake and be shaken. I replied all the time: “_Combien je suis charmée, madame.... Oh, certainement!... Oh, oui!... Oh, non!... Ah!... Oh! Oh!..._” I was getting dazed, idiotic—worn out with standing. I had only one idea, and that was to get my rings off the fingers that were swelling with the repeated grips they were having. My eyes were getting larger and larger with terror, as they gazed at the door through which the crowd continued to stream in my direction ... there to shake.... My _risorius de Santorini_ must still go on working more than fifty times ... I could feel the beads of perspiration standing out under my hair—and I began to get terribly nervous. My teeth chattered and I commenced stammering. “_Oh, madame!... Oh!... Je suis cha—cha_....” I really could not go on any longer. I felt that I should get angry or burst out crying ... in fact that I was about to make myself ridiculous. I decided therefore to faint....