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ss other things. Most of the people who attended held season tickets and followed all the concerts. I was surprised at how many knew about Louis, how he had composed music while he was blind and then, as he regained his vision, began performing throughout Europe.

Since none of Gisselle's friends would attend such a concert, I had no problem dealing with their surprise at seeing me dressed this way. Nevertheless, I was happy when we finally were seated and the audience grew quiet. The conductor walked out to the sound of applause and then Louis entered to an even greater ovation. He took his seat at the piano, the hall grew absolutely still, and the music began.

As Louis played concerto after concerto, I closed my eyes and recalled those nights at his grandmother's mansion. Memories flooded back. I saw him sitting at his piano, his eyes shut in darkness, but his fingers bringing him light and putting a glow in his face. I remembered the way we would sit together on the stool as he played, and I remembered his touching me and kissing me. Then I recalled his great outburst of tears and emotion in his room when he finally told me the dreadful story of his parents, his mother's obsession with him and his father's anger.

Like the rainbow after the storm, Louis had risen out of this turmoil and pain to become a worldclass pianist. It filled my heart with not only warmth and joy, but hope for Beau, Pearl, and myself. Our storm would end soon, too, I thought, and we would have a quiet, sweet aftermath.

Finally, before the concert ended, Louis got up and addressed the audience. "This last piece, as your program explains, is entitled Ruby's Symphony. It's a piece inspired by a wonderful young lady who came into my life briefly and helped me to find hope and self-confidence again. You might say she showed me the light at the end of the tunnel. So it is with particular pleasure that I play this for you tonight," he said. Only a few people in the audience suspected it was actually me, Ruby Dumas, for whom the music had been written and to whom it had been dedicated.

Beau held my hand but said nothing. I tried not to cry, for fear people would notice, but holding back these tears was a feat beyond Samson. My cheeks were soaked by the time the music ended; however, the audience had been enraptured and everyone rose to his feet to applaud. Beau and I did, too. Louis took his bows and left the stage in glorious success.

"I just have to go backstage to see and congratulate him, Beau," I said.

"Of course," he said.

Louis's dressing room was packed with people complimenting him. Champagne bottles were popping open all over the place. I thought we wouldn't get within five feet of him, but he spotted me in the back of the crowd and beckoned us forward, asking people to step aside. Naturally all eyes were on us, people wondering, who were these special guests?

"It was wonderful, Louis," I said. "I'm so glad we were able to attend."

"Yes, spectacular," Beau added.

"Thank you. I'm so happy I could bring a little joy into your lives at this particularly trying time, Madame Andreas." He kissed my hand.

"I wish Gisselle's sister could have been here herself," Beau said quickly, and loudly enough for everyone in the room to hear. My heart paused in the silence that followed. Louis's smile widened.

"Yes, don't we all?" he said. "But of course, in a real sense, she was," he added with a soft smile. We gazed at each other for a moment and then another champagne bottle was popped and Louis's attention was drawn away long enough for Beau and me to effect a graceful retreat.

My heart felt like a twisted ball of Spanish moss in my chest. Even with the car window wide open and my face practically in the breeze, I couldn't get enough air.

"I'm happy you talked me into going to that concert," Beau said. "He really was spectacular. I'm not just saying it. When he played, the music had a life of its own and melodies I had heard before suddenly became as beautiful as I imagine they were meant to be."

"Yes, he has an extraordinary talent."

"You should be proud you helped him regain his purpose in life," Beau said.

"I don't know how much I really had to do with it."

"One look in his eyes told me you had all to do with it," Beau said. "But I'm not jealous," he added quickly with a smile. "You passed through his life like some angel of mercy, touched him and went on. But you are my life."

He drew me to his side and kissed me quickly. I snuggled against him and felt truly safe and happy for the first time since our arrival in New Orleans as man and wife. That night we made love gently, gracefully, sweetly, and fell asleep in each other's arms. Both of us slept longer than usual. Not even the sunlight streaming in through the windows woke us, and Beau had disconnected our telephone at the bed so we wouldn't be disturbed.

I was the first to hear Aubrey's footsteps and gentle knock. At first I thought I was dreaming. Then I opened my eyes and listened again. Beau groaned when I stirred.

"Just a moment," I called, and got up to put on my robe. Beau turned over in bed and closed his eyes again.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, madame, but Madame Pitot is on the phone and she is rather distraught. She insisted I bring you to the phone immediately."

"Thank you, Aubrey," I said. I went to the night table and plugged in our telephone, my hands already shaking badly in anticipation of bad news.

"What is it?" Beau asked, wiping his eyes with the palms of his hands.

"It's Jeanne," I said, and lifted the receiver.

"Hello, Jeanne."

"She's dead," she said in a voice that sounded like it belonged to a corpse itself. "She died early this morning. Paul was there, holding her hand."

"What?"