As the captain seemed interested, Julie explained: “I awoke in the night. It was the dear mamma who stood by my bed with a candle in the hand, and one with her like Jacques until I meet his beautiful eyes. Then I laugh gaily and cry, ‘Ah, behold thee, my brother, covered with plaster! and thy coat too large for thee! Didst thou think to fool me?’ But our mother lays the finger upon her lip, and her face is very pale; and Julien kisses and embraces me without ceasing, and with tears, and I know not what to make of it. Soon they go out and I fall again to sleep. Oh, monsieur, he came that same night to America! It was not an hour after, while I slept—mamma has told me it—that the wicked gendarmes came and searched the house for him!” “Ah! the gendarmes! and why?” “Because—mamma said—he had written something in the journals which meant that the Emperor was not a good Emperor; and for _that_ the wicked gendarmes would have put my poor brother in prison.” “Go on, my pretty one,” said the captain, smiling, “thou knowest how to talk. Thou art more entertaining than a book. How old art thou?” “Ten years.” “You are small for that age. Have you ever been to school?” “Never, monsieur. It was the governess who taught me.” “The governess—bah! Did she ever see a geography?” “Geography, monsieur? What is that? Is it an animal?” “Bah! What did she teach you?” “The dance, and the drawing, and the embroidery, and the music—” “The music?—can you sing?” “A little, monsieur.” “Sing me, then, a little song.” So Julie sang a little song. It was the “Farewell.” Adieu! ne m’oublie pas, etc. “Bravo!” applauded the captain when she had finished. Then he went up on deck. Julie recollected something as he passed out. She carefully drew a small package from the folds of her dress and ran after him. The rolling of the ship made her dizzy. She reeled and would have fallen, had not a sailor caught her hand. “Merci” (thank you), she said. That brought another to the rescue. “Merci, merci!” she repeated. Half a dozen of the crew came to learn the cause of alarm. “Merci, merci, merci!” she screamed. Would they never understand? The captain did, and laughed heartily. “And what can I do for mademoiselle?” he asked as she approached, smiling at sight of his bronzed and furrowed face—already that of an old friend among this crowd of seamen—strangers, from a country where “mercy!” is a frequent exclamation. [Illustration: “Because this, mamma said, must pay for my voyage.”—PAGE 99.] “Good monsieur, are you the man who takes the moneys? Because this, mamma said, must pay for my voyage.” She gave to him the little parcel. The captain opened it, and found therein a beautiful cross of solid gold, curiously wrought and thickly studded with precious stones.