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At first I thought I was really looking at an apparition.

When he had left, Pierre told me to watch for him

where I would least expect to see him. Well, there he

was poling a pirogue my way, something I would

never have anticipated.

Shocked, I stood with my mouth agape. He

wore dark pants and a dark shirt with a palmetto hat.

He poled very well in my direction and then let the

canoe glide to the bank.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle," he said, scooping off his hat to make a sweeping bow with laughter around his eyes. "Isn't it a fine day we're having in the

swamp?"

"Pierre! Where did you come from? How did

you . . . Where did you get this pirogue?"

"I bought it and put it in just a little ways up the

canal," he said. "As you can see, I've been practicing,

too."

"But what are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here? Poling a canoe in the

canal," he said as casually as he would if he had been

doing it all his life. "I just happened to see you

strolling along the bank."

I could only laugh. His face turned serious,

those green eyes locking tightly on mine.

"Gabriel," he said. "I've been saying your name

repeatedly to myself since the day I left. It's like

music, a chant. I heard it everywhere I went in the

city; in the traffic, the tires of cars were singing it;

from the streetcar, in the rattle of its wheels; in the

clatter of voices in our fine restaurants; and of course,

at night in my dreams.