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"I'll have just a small piece, madame. Mama told me to watch my weight."

"Oh? There!" she pounced. "You see, there was something else for you to tell me. Watch my weight. Must I discover these things by accident?"

"I didn't think . . ."

"You've got to think." She leaned forward, her eyes beady. "We have an elaborate and complicated scheme to conduct. We must trust each other with the most intimate details about our bodies," she said, and I wondered what detail about her body she imagined I would have the vaguest interest in. I decided to risk a question.

"Have you ever seen a doctor or another traiteur about your difficulty getting pregnant, madame?"

She pulled herself back in the seat. Her face turned crimson and her eyes widened. "Don't assume because you are living here under these circumstances that you may take liberties with my privacy," she declared.

"I meant no disrespect, madame. You yourself just said we must trust each other."

She stared a moment and then, just as suddenly as she had become indignant, she erased that indignation and smiled.

"Yes, that's true. No. I haven't gone to any physicians or traiteurs. I trust in God to eventually bless my fertility. I am, as you can see, in every other way a healthy, vigorous person."

"Mama's helped some women get pregnant," I offered. She raised her eyebrows.

"I'm sure she would help you, too."

"If I ever get that desperate, I will call on her," Gladys said. The grandfather clock bonged and she shifted her gaze to the door.

"Did you want me to return to my room before Octavious comes home?" I asked, assuming that was what concerned her.

"Octavious won't be home until much later," she said. "Your mother said you must exercise to make the birthing easier. You can go for a walk around the house, but don't go down the driveway, and whatever you do, don't speak to any of my field workers if one of them should be nearby. My maids, however, will return around eleven, so you must be upstairs before that."

"Oui, madame."

She stared at me again, her face softening. "Do you want coffee?" she asked, nodding at the silver pot on a warmer.

"Please," I said. She rose and actually served me. Then she sat down and sighed deeply.

"I am not happy with what Octavious has done, of course," she began, gazing around the large dining hall, "but the prospect of little feet pitter-pattering over these floors, and hearing another voice in this house, is a wonderful thing. I will spend all my time with my baby. Finally I will have a family."

"You have no brothers or sisters, Madame Tate?"

"No," she said. "My mother . . . my mother did not do well when she was pregnant with me, and the delivery, I was told, was very difficult. She almost died."

"I'm sorry."

"My father wanted a son, of course, and was very unhappy. Then he finally settled on finding a proper son-in-law, proper in his eyes," she added, almost spitting the words. She glared at the table a moment and then raised her eyes quickly. "But that's all in the past now. I don't want to think about it." She smirked. "I would appreciate it if you would not ask me so many personal questions," she continued, her voice taking on the steely edge of a razor. "For me to answer them is like tearing a scab off a wound."

"I'm sorry, madame. I didn't intend .

"Everyone has such good intentions. No one means any harm," she said with a sneer. Then her face crumpled and she looked like a little girl for a moment. "Daddy, my daddy, he never meant any harm either. All the men in my life meant no harm." She laughed a thin, hollow laugh. "Even Octavious meant you no harm, he says. He meant to give you the gift of the love experience. Can you imagine him telling me such a ridiculous thing? I think he really believes that."

I shook my head, my heart pounding, not sure what to expect next. She didn't fail to surprise and shock me. Her face turned into granite again.

"Where do you think he has gone tonight?" she asked with venom. "To give some other poor, deprived young woman the benefit of his love experience. So," she said, her eyes steaming as she leaned over her plate toward me. "Don't feel sorry for yourself. Feel sorry for me and do whatever I ask to make things right."

I could barely nod. My throat wouldn't swallow and my fingers felt numb.

She sat back. The granite softened again and she sighed deeply. "Go enjoy your walk," she said with a wave of her hand. "Your inquiries have given me indigestion."

I rose slowly. "Can I help you with anything?" I asked, nodding at the table.

"What? No, you fool. Do you think I do anything with the dishes and food? My maids will take care of it all when they return. Just go, go."