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decks, from port side to starboard. There was an area set aside for “sunbathing,” but we were forbidden to go there, of course. Besides the main deck, we counted six others. At the centre of the ship was a magnificent staircase, with wrought-iron railings, connecting the promenade deck with the upper deck. There were also two elevators giving access to the upper storeys.
    We entered a large, luxurious lounge. Sitting on velvet-upholstered chairs around little tables, people were talking while having coffee, tea, or alcoholic drinks. The adjoining dining room was extremely grand with its glass chandeliers, immaculate white tablecloths, and china tableware. We wouldn’t have the good fortune to see it sparkle brilliantly at night with its diners in evening dress, since we were to eat in the cabin. It would be an enchanting sight, I thought. Our chaperones didn’t want to show us the huge ballroom because, I imagine, they were anxious to keep us away from the temptation of sin.
    We then sat down in the cafeteria and for the first time in my life I had a scrumptious ham sandwich.
    An announcement was made that the ship would leave in an hour. Awaiting that moment, the postulants and I exchanged our first impressions while the fathers talked to other passengers. It was a glorious mid-October day and rather warm. We were told that the holds were finally full and a siren would soon sound the departure. It was a good thing they had let us know, otherwise we all would have jumped when we heard the shrill blast of that siren. Then the engines started up noisily, giving off a nasty fuel-oil smell. The odour made Éva Tremblay very unwell; I even thought she was going to faint.
    All the passengers were out on the decks to watch the great departure manoeuvres. It was spectacular. Slowly the ship pulled away from the docks and the tugboats darted ahead as they began towing us to the open sea, since the engines couldn’t run at full throttle in such shallow water. The France , according to what we caught from conversations around us, was the third-fastest liner on the North Atlantic.
    I suddenly felt very small in the middle of that vast expanse of inky black water and wondered by what kind of phenomenon such a gigantic thing was able to float. When the coast disappeared on the horizon, I panicked a little. On the third day, an underwater storm tossed the ship about for several hours and I thought the sea was simply going to swallow us up. The France , so colossal in the harbour a couple of days ago, now, faced with the raging sea, felt like a tiny paper boat. Éva, who hadn’t had a thing to eat since we left New York, felt worse and worse. The doctor told her she should consume some food, even if she remained lying in her berth. Her stomach needed to fill up, which would have a pendulum effect and prevent retching. But it didn’t work with her. As for me, as soon as the ocean was calm, I went out on deck. The sea air did me the world of good. And because it was cold outside, there were few passengers on the deck. So no one bothered me.
    As we approached the coast of Europe, I had a chance to admire the fine residences near the harbour. They were very different from the buildings in Quebec. I instantly fell in love with the new land that was taking me in.
    In the early morning of October 21, we dropped anchor in the harbour of Le Havre. While the ship drew alongside the quay, we were all out on the deck already and watched the people who had come to wave a welcome to the France . I felt as though I was coming home and imagined that in that crowd a family was waiting for me. All the passengers seemed very happy to reach dry land again after the long Atlantic crossing. Only Éva hadn’t enjoyed the ocean voyage and was just as pale as when we first set out.
    A transportation service conveyed us to the railway station. The train would first take us to Paris, then to Brittany. It would be about a twelve-hour trip. So the fathers who