d an indelible red
stain on my memory.

IX

I did not feel at ease until the ship was well out of New York harbor;
and, notwithstanding the repeated reassurances of my millionaire
friend and my own knowledge of the facts in the case, I somehow
could not rid myself of the sentiment that I was, in a great degree,
responsible for the "widow's" tragic end. We had brought most of the
morning papers aboard with us, but my great fear of seeing my name in
connection with the killing would not permit me to read the accounts,
although, in one of the papers, I did look at the picture of the
victim, which did not in the least resemble her. This morbid state of
mind, together with sea-sickness, kept me miserable for three or four
days. At the end of that time my spirits began to revive, and I took
an interest in the ship, my fellow passengers, and the voyage in
general. On the second or third day out we passed several spouting
whales, but I could not arouse myself to make the effort to go to the
other side of the ship to see them. A little later we ran in close
proximity to a large iceberg. I was curious enough to get up and look
at it, and I was fully repaid for my pains. The sun was shining full
upon it, and it glistened like a mammoth diamond, cut with a million
facets. As we passed, it constantly changed its shape; at each
different angle of vision it assumed new and astonishing forms of
beauty. I watched it through a pair of glasses, seeking to verify
my early conception of an iceberg--in the geographies of my grammar
school days the pictures of icebergs always included a stranded polar
bear, standing desolately upon one of the snowy crags. I looked
for the bear, but if he was there, he refused to put himself on
exhibition.

It was not, however, until the morning that we entered the harbor of
Havre that I was able to shake off my gloom. Then the strange sights,
the chatter in an unfamiliar tongue, and the excitement of landing
and passing the customs officials caused me to forget completely the
events of a few days before. Indeed, I grew so lighthearted that when
I caught my first sight of the train which was to take us to Paris,
I enjoyed a hearty laugh. The toy-looking engine, the stuffy little
compartment cars, with tiny, old-fashioned wheels, struck me as being
extremely funny. But before we reached Paris my respect for our train
rose considerably. I found that the "tiny" engine made remarkably fast
time, and t