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at me as if just realizing I was there, and smiled. I felt

a rush of color rise up my neck and into my face. I

glanced quickly at Pierre and then looked down. "She's going to be a great belle," Daddy said

between gulps of food.

"Going to be? You would have to be blind not

to see that she already is. How old are you,

mademoiselle?" Pierre's father asked me.

"Nineteen, monsieur."

"Nineteen? Seems a pity to waste her talents

here," one of the other rich men commented. "She's not being wasted," Mama retorted

sharply, and he lost his lusty smile quickly. Daddy

scowled and Mama ordered me to bring something

into the house.

Soon afterward, they prepared for their hunting

trip in the swamps, all of them slipping into their hiphigh boots. They checked their shotguns, with Daddy

complimenting them on their fine equipment. Pierre was going along this time, but before he

got into the pirogue, he paused beside me, squeezed

my hand surreptitiously, and whispered, "I'm going to remain behind at our secret place afterward. I've

already arranged it."

"But your father . . ."

"Don't worry about him. Don't worry about

anything. Can you come tonight?"

"Yes," I promised.

"Don't worry," he said, smiling as he started

away, "I won't kill anything. I'm even a worse shot

now that I've met you than I was before."

I laughed and turned to rush back to help Mama

clean up. When I did, I saw her gazing at me from a

window. Between the batten plank shutters, her face

was as dark and as sad as one who just had seen the