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and smiling at me.

"She was kidnapped more than fifteen years

ago and has returned?" Daphne said. "Is that what

we're to tell people, tell our friends?"

He nodded. "Like the Prodigal Son, only this

case, it's the Prodigal Daughter, whose fake

grandmother got a pang of conscience on her

deathbed and told her the truth. Miracle of miracles,

Ruby has found her way home."

"But, Pierre . ."

"You'll be the talk of the town, Daphne.

Everyone will want to know the story. You won't be

able to keep up with the invitations," he said. Daphne

just stared at him a moment and then looked up at me. "Isn't it amazing?" my father said. "Look at

how identical they are."

"But she's so. . . unschooled," Daphne moaned. "Which, in the beginning, will make her more

of a curiosity. But you can take her under your wing

just as you took Gisselle," my father explained, "and

teach her nice things, correct things, make her over. . .

like Pygmalion and Galatea," he said. "Everyone will

admire you for it," he told her.

"I don't know," she said, but it was with much

less resistance. She gazed at me more analytically.

"Maybe scrubbed up with decent clothes . . ." "These are decent clothes!" I snapped. I was

tired of everyone criticizing my garments.

"Grandmere Catherine made them and the things she

made were always cherished and sought after in the

bayou."

"I'm sure they were," Daphne said, her eyes

sharp and cold. "In the bayou. But this is not the bayou, dear. This is New Orleans. You came here because you want to live here . . be with your father," she said, looking at Pierre before looking back at me.