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I did as he suggested, my head against his chest, his arm around my shoulder. We lay there silently, our wet clothing steaming in the hot Louisiana midday sun.

"I feel like a Cajun peanut," I muttered after a few moments.

"What's that?"

"Shrimp dried in the hot sun."

He laughed. "You're so full of surprises, every expression, every word, is something unexpected. What a delight. Tell me how it can be that you have not been stolen away and married. Are all the young men blind here?"

I said nothing. The silence was heavy.

"No boyfriend?" Pierre pursued.

"No, monsieur." I sat up.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to pry," he said quickly.

"I should take you back," I said. "Mama will be angry no matter what."

I started to stand, but he reached out and seized my left wrist.

"I haven't known you long, but somehow, I feel I can be honest with you, and I hope you feel you can be honest with me. There's a pain in your heart. I wish I could remove that pain. I wish I had some of the magic that's in this place."

I sat again. He released my wrist, but took hold of my hand.

"Gabriel. Your name is like music to me." He took my other hand and gently, but firmly, pulled me closer to him. "You're too beautiful to be unhappy. I won't permit it," he said, and kissed me again. When we parted, he wiped away the fugitive tear that had escaped from under my burning eyelid. "Someone hurt you? Some young man?"

"Not some young man," I said.

"An older man?" I nodded. "He took advantage of you? This happened recently?" he asked, firing one question after another.

"Yes. Often I go into the swamp alone. He came upon me one day and . . ."

"I hope he was made to suffer for it."

"No, monsieur. He is a wealthy man, and wealthy people often escape pain and suffering," I said bitterly.

"That's not true everywhere," Pierre said, and looked down. "At least, it's not true for me."

"Your brother," I said, recalling what he had told me. He nodded.

"There's more. I don't wear the ring all the time," he said, "but . ."

My heart stopped and then started. "You're married, monsieur?"

With great reluctance, he nodded.

"Oh," I said, as if my heart had turned to lead. For a moment I couldn't breathe. The air seemed even more humid, more tepid.

"But it's not a happy marriage," he said quickly. "We are childless and the doctors say that is the way it will always be. My wife has some difficulties."

Despite the weakness in my legs, I stood up quickly. "We must return to the shack, monsieur. I must help my mother prepare for the day's selling."

"Of course."

"I am sorry I caused this to happen to you. Mama will get your clothing dried quickly. It will be better if we just walk along the bank," I added.

He stood. "Gabriel. My wife is even more bitter about our marriage than I am. She thinks I think less of her. It's as if a wall has fallen between us these days. A house, a home, a marriage, should