It was a glorious sight. There was a row of military men from the
French warship in the harbor, down in front; priests, and ladies with
sparkling diamonds; a bishop wearing a purple vestment under his black
gown sat to one side; a stout lady in decollete waved a feather fan in
rhythmic, mystic motion, far back to the left.
The audience applauded encouragingly, I wished I was back in that dear
East Aurora. But I began.
In a few minutes my heart ceased to thump and I knew we were off.