Though I pretended to be irritated with their teasing, I was secretly enjoying it. Being constantly with Dominique was not only exciting, but my French was improving by leaps and bounds. He was like a walking dictionary! Everywhere we went, if I didn't know the word for something, I simply pointed to it and asked him how to say it. He was patient, though I admit he had his limits. After asking him the fourth or fifth time for the same word, he might explode, "I already told you that, HOW MANY TIMES?!!!" Amazing, isn't it? That French word would suddenly gel in my mind, and I never seemed to forget it again!

By January, I had made the breakthrough in the French language so that I was no longer going through the tedious process of translating everything into English before figuring out what to say in French. I was suddenly aware I was thinking in French. This became particularly apparent when I woke up from a dream and realized my parents had been speaking French to me in my dream, when in reality they don't speak a word of it!

This new ability to speak and understand French greatly increased my enjoyment of times with Dominique, being able to relax now, expressing myself more freely and understanding him more fully. Soon after Easter break, the strength of the bond between us (plus the date set for me to sail home in June) prompted long talks together concerning our future. Marriage seemed the constant subject of discussion, even to the point of how many children we might like to have and where we would live.

On this point, Dominique was unmoving. I had not only fallen in love with him, but with culture and life in his country as well. I was certain I would be very happy living in France with him after our marriage. But he was wise to point out the need he felt to live together in the States following our marriage. He was certain he would never truly know me unless he also knew the culture of my heritage and spoke my native tongue. However, he assured me we wouldn't live in the States more than four years before returning to live permanently in France. We agreed, and he announced the next step was to take me home to meet his parents and the rest of his family.

Yes, I was nervous. You cannot imagine how nervous I was! I had plenty of time to dwell on my nervousness, because the drive to their home took nearly ten hours. At the time, Dominique's parents lived in the city of Nantes located on the northwestern coast of France. Besides, we weren't just going home for dinner. We were to spend more than a week there!

As Dominique wound his little "Deux-Chevaux" car (pronounced "Deuh Shevo") through the streets of each tiny village and town along the way, he tried to describe the members of his family: his father, professor of classical Greek at the university - his mother, gourmet cook raised in charm school and bourgeois delicacy - plus, three sisters and one brother, all younger than he. When Dominique spoke of his close-knit family, classical Greek, and bourgeois delicacy, I looked down at my boldly striped bell-bottomed jeans and wondered with growing uneasiness what kind of impression I would make.

How much had Dominique told them about me, and had he revealed any detail about the real reason for our visit: the possibility of introducing me as the girl he wanted to marry? My questions were answered when his stately mother strode forward and greeted me with a rather formal handshake and a politely gracious, but distant smile. The affection of embracing their eldest son, however, left little doubt in my mind that Dominique had spoken honestly when he described his family as close-knit.