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"Look at the rings on my hand!" she exclaimed, lifting her right hand off the steering wheel. Every finger had a ring on it. There seemed to be one for every valuable jewel: diamonds, emeralds, rubies, and sapphires all set in gold and platinum. Her hand looked like a display in a jewelry shop window.

"Why I bet the amount of money I have on this hand would buy the houses and food for a year for ten swamp families."

"They would," I admitted. I wanted to add and that seems unfair, but I didn't.

"Your father wants to buy you some nice bracelets and rings himself, and he noted that you have no watch. With beautiful jewelry, nice clothes, and a little makeup, you will at least look like you've been a Dumas for your whole life. The next thing I'll do is take you through some simple rules of etiquette, show you the proper way to dine and speak."

"What's wrong with how I eat and talk?" I wondered aloud. My father hadn't appeared upset at breakfast or lunch.

"Nothing, if you lived the rest of your life in the swamps, but you're in New Orleans now and part of high society. There will be dinner parties and gala affairs. You wa

nt to become a refined, educated, and attractive young woman, don't you?" she asked.

I couldn't help wanting to be like her. She was so elegant and carried herself with such an air of confidence, and yet, every time I agreed to something she said or did something she wanted me to do, it was as if I were looking down upon the Cajun people, treating them as if they were less important and not as good.

I decided I would do what I had to do to make my father happy and blend into his world, but I wouldn't harbor any feelings of superiority, if I could help it. I was only afraid I would become more like Gisselle than, as my father wished, Gisselle would become more like me.

"You do want to be a Dumas, don't you?" she pursued.

"Yes," I said, but not with much conviction. My hesitation gave her reason to glance at me again, those blue eyes darkening with suspicion.

"I do hope you will make every effort to answer the call of your Creole blood, your real heritage, and quickly block out and forget the Cajun world you were unfairly left to live in. Just think," she said, a little lightness in her voice now, "it was just chance Gisselle was the one given the better life. If you would have emerged first from your mother's womb, Gisselle would have been the poor Cajun girl."

The idea made her laugh.

"I must tell her that she could have been the one kidnapped and forced to live in the swamps," she added. "Just to see the look on her face."

The thought brought a broad smile to hers. How was I to tell her that despite the hardships Grandmere Catherine and I endured and despite the mean things Grandpere Jack had done, my Cajun world had its charm, too?

Apparently, if it wasn't something she could buy in a store, it wasn't significant to her, and despite what she told me, love was something you couldn't buy in a store. In my heart I knew that to be true, and that was one Cajun belief she would never change, elegant, rich life at stake or not.

When we drove up to the house, she called Edgar out to take all the packages up to my room. I wanted to help him, but Daphne snapped at me as soon as I made the suggestion.

Help him?" she said as if I had proposed burning down the house. "You don't help him. He helps you. That's what servants are fore my dear child. I'll see to it that Wendy hangs everything up that has to be hung up in your closet and puts everything else in your armoire and vanity table. You run along and find your sister and do whatever it is girls your age do on your days off from school."

Having servants do the simplest things for me was one of the hardest things for me to get used to, I thought. Wouldn't it make me lazy? But no one seemed concerned about being lazy here. It was expected of you, almost required.

I remembered that Gisselle said she would be out at the pool, lounging with Beau Andreas. They were there, lying on thick cushioned beige metal framed lounges and sipping from tall glasses of pink lemonade. Beau sat up as soon as he set eyes on me and beamed a warm smile. He was wearing a white and blue terry cloth jacket and shorts and Gisselle was in a two-piece dark blue bathing suit, her sunglasses almost big enough to be called a mask.

"Hi," Beau said immediately. Gisselle looked up, lowering and peering over her sunglasses as if they were reading glasses.

"Did Mother leave anything in the stores for anyone else?" she asked.

"Barely," I said. "I've never been to so many big department stores and seen so much clothing and shoes." Beau laughed at my enthusiasm.

"I'm sure she took you to Diana's and Rudolph Vita's and the Moulin Rouge, didn't she?" Gisselle said.

I shook my head.

"To tell you the truth, we went in and out of so many stores and so quickly, I don't remember the names of half of them," I said with a gasp. Beau laughed again and patted his lounge. He pulled his legs up, embracing them around the knees.

"Sit down. Take a load off," he suggested.

"Thanks." I sat down next to him and smelled the sweet scent of the coconut suntan lotion he and Gisselle had on their faces.

"Gisselle told me your story," he said. "It's fantastic. What were these Cajun people like? Did they turn you into their little slave or something?"

"Oh, no," I said, but quickly checked my enthusiasm. "I had my daily chores, of course."