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I were living a waking dream, too gigantic to be true. I became just a spectator, no longer experiencing the present moment, as if there was no more room in my eyes for new images. I had difficulty taking it all in. The fathers gave us a veritable history lecture by taking time to explain what we saw through the windows. My brain filled with all these explanations and I was overwhelmed by them.
    I pulled myself together again in the automobile that took us from the station to the New York harbour. This car was called a taxi. I remember taking an instant liking to the word “taxi.” It sounded like a foreign language.
    What struck me first when I saw New York were, of course, the large number of skyscrapers. But I was especially amazed to see that the buildings were squeezed together on an island much smaller than the Saguenay–Lac-Saint-Jean territory. The fathers came to my aid once again. They explained that the reason there was such a density of buildings in this particular spot was that the soil lent itself to it, and this wasn’t the case outside the area.
    When we arrived at the harbour, we saw the majestic liner France , which would take us across the Atlantic. It was the only liner with four funnels and nothing like the photographs of ships I had seen at the convent. I was awestruck once more, and so overcome with emotion I felt like crying. My travel companions seemed as stunned as I was.
    We were told how the boarding would proceed, but we were so excited we didn’t understand a word of the fathers’ explanations. We joined the lineup without really knowing where we were going. It was half past eight on the morning of October 17, and the virtual orphan Armande Martel was about to board the stately liner France . I who had resigned myself to living shut away in a convent for the rest of my days, was setting off toward a different destiny. It seemed unreal to me. Yet all I had done was tell Sister Adolphine that I wished to join her community. I never thought I would find myself thrust into the thick of an expedition like this.
    We were guided through corridors to the space booked for us. It consisted of a large sitting room and two adjoining cabins, one of which, fitted out with berths, was reserved for us: the postulants and the nun.
    My excitement reached fever pitch and made me forget my manners. Without consulting the others, I expressed my preference for sleeping in the upper berth. Luckily, no one objected, and I climbed into it. Up on my bed, I could see the toilet bowl and the tiny wash basin beside it. There was even a door we could close so we could wash ourselves in complete privacy. I couldn’t believe it. I was beginning to understand the meaning of the word luxury . The fathers claimed on the other hand that the ship had deteriorated somewhat since the last time they sailed on it, a few years before, even though it still had a certain lustre. I decided to ignore their remarks. For me, it was the most beautiful ship in the world.
    We quickly got ourselves settled and went out to walk around the decks. A lot of deck chairs were lined up there. I decided to lie down on one for a few seconds. I was called to order immediately. Leaning on the ship’s railing — to me, it was the “balcony balustrade” — we watched the activity in the harbour. Many automobiles drove up and discharged batches of new passengers, who rushed up the gangway while workers pushed along carts loaded with luggage, food, and all sorts of bottles.
    Beside me, a couple was in the middle of a discussion. The lady said she was worried about the ocean voyage because she still remembered what happened to the Titanic , which sank in 1912, the year I was born. Her husband tried to reassure her. He explained that the sinking was due in part to human error. This argument seemed to reassure her, as it did me, in fact. I had absolutely no desire to make the voyage while dreading some looming misfortune.
    We continued looking around the