"Let me see your left hand," he asked quickly. "Come on," he added, and reached for it. I held out my hand and he gazed at my fingers for a moment. Then, when he looked up at me, his face twisted in shock. "You never take off that ring, never," he said, more to himself than to me. "And your fingers," he said, looking at my hand again, "your whole hand is rougher." He released me quickly, as quickly as he would had my hand been a hot coal. "Who are you?"

"I told you. My name is Ruby."

"But you look just like . . . you're the spitting image of Gisselle," he said.

"Oh. So that's her name," I said more to myself than to him. "Gisselle."

"Who are you?" he asked again, now gazing at me as if I were a ghost. "I mean, what are you to the Dumas family? A cousin? What? I demand that you tell me or I'll call the police," he added firmly.

"I'm Gisselle's sister," I confessed in a breath.

"Gisselle's sister? Gisselle has no sister," he replied, still speaking in a stern voice. Then he paused a moment, obviously impressed with the resemblances. "At least, none I knew about," he said.

"I'm fairly sure Gisselle doesn't know about me either," I said.

"Really? But . . ."

"It's too long of a story to tell you and I don't know why I should tell you anything anyway," I said.

"But if you're Gisselle's sister, why are you leaving? Why are you going back to . . . where'd you say, Houma?"

"I thought I could do this, introduce myself, but I find I can't."

"You mean, the Dumas don't know you're here yet?" I shook my head. "Well, you can't just leave without telling them you're in New Orleans. Come on," he said, reaching for my hand. "I'll bring you in myself."

I shook my head and stepped back, more terrified than ever.

"Come on," he said. "Look. My name's Beau Andreas. I'm a very good friend of the family. Actually, Gisselle is my girlfriend, but my parents and the Dumas have known each other for ages. I'm like a member of this family. That's why I'm so shocked by what you're saying. Come on," he chanted, and took my hand.

"I've changed my mind," I said, shaking my head. "This isn't as good an idea as I first thought."

"What isn't?"

"Surprising them."

"Mr. and Mrs. Dumas don't know you're coming?" he asked, his confusion building. I shook my head. "This is really bizarre. Gisselle doesn't know she has a twin sister and the Dumas don't know you're here. Well, why did you come all this way if you're only going to turn around and go right back?" he asked, his hands on his hips.

"You're afraid, aren't you?" he said quickly. "That's it, you're afraid of them. Well, don't be. Pierre Dumas is a very nice man and Daphne . . . she is nice, too. Gisselle," he said, smiling, "is Gisselle. To tell you the truth, I can't wait to see the expression on her face when she comes face-to-face with you."

"I can," I said, and turned away.

"I'll just run in and tell them you were here and you're running away," he threatened. "Someone will come after you and it will all be far more embarrassing."

"You wouldn't," I said.

"Of course I would," he replied, smiling. "So you might as well do it the right way." He held out his hand. I looked back at the house and then at him. His eyes were friendly, although a bit impish. Reluctantly, my heart thumping so hard I thought it would take my breath away and cause me to faint before I reached the front door, I took his hand and let him lead me back to the gate and up the walk to the grand galerie. There was a tile stairway.

"How did you get here?" he asked before we reached the door.

"The bus," I said. He lifted the ball and hammer knocker and let the sound echo through what I imagined, from the sound of the reverberation within, was an enormous entryway. A few moments later, the door was opened and we faced a mulatto man in a butler's uniform. He wasn't short, but he wasn't tall either. He had a round face with large dark eyes and a somewhat pug nose. His dark brown hair was curly and peppered with gray strands. There were dime-size brown spots on his cheeks and forehead and his lips were slightly orange.

"Good evening, Monsieur Andreas," he said, then shifted his gaze to me. The moment he set eyes on me, he dropped his mouth. "But Mademoiselle Gisselle, I just saw you . . ." He turned around and looked behind him. Beau Andreas laughed.

"This isn't Mademoiselle Gisselle, Edgar. Edgar, I'd like you to meet Ruby. Ruby, Edgar Farrar, the Dumas' butler. Are Mr. and Mrs. Dumas in, Edgar?" he asked.

"Oh, no, sir. They left for the ball about an hour ago," he said, his eyes still fixed on me.

"Well then, there's nothing to do but wait for them to return. Until then, you can visit with Gisselle," Beau told me. He guided me into the great house.

The entryway floor was a peach marble and the ceiling, which looked like it rose to at least twelve feet above me, had pictures of nymphs and angels, doves and blue sky painted over it. There were paintings and sculptures every-where I looked, but the wall to the right was covered by an enormous tapestry depicting a grand French palace and gardens.

"Where is Mademoiselle Gisselle, Edgar?" Beau asked.

"She's still upstairs," Edgar said.

"I knew she would be pampering herself forever. I'm never late when it comes to escorting Gisselle anywhere," Beau told me. "Especially a Mardi Gras Ball. To Gisselle, being on time means being an hour late. Fashionably late, of course," he added. "Are you hungry, thirsty?"

"No, I had half of a poor boy sandwich not so long ago," I said, and grimaced with the memory of what had nearly happened to me.

"You didn't like it?" Beau asked.

"No, it wasn't that. Someone . . . a stranger I trusted, attacked me in an alley on the way here," I confessed. "What? Are you all right?" he asked quickly.

"Yes. I got away before anything terrible happened, but it was quite frightening."

"I'll bet. The back streets in New Orleans can be quite dangerous during Mardi Gras. You shouldn't have wandered around by yourself." He turned to Edgar. "Where is Nina, Edgar?" he asked.

"Just finishing up some things in the kitchen."

"Good. Come on," Beau insisted. "I'll take you to the kitchen and Nina will give you something to drink at least. Edgar, would you be so kind as to inform Mademoiselle Gisselle that I've arrived with a surprise guest and we're in the kitchen?"

"Very good, monsieur," Edgar said and headed for the beautiful curved stairway with soft carpeted steps and a shiny mahogany balustrade.

"This way," Beau said. He directed me through the entryway, past one beautiful room after another, each filled with antiques and expensive French furniture and paintings. It looked more like a museum to me than a home.

The kitchen was as large as I expected it would be with long counters and tables, big sinks, and walls of cabinets. Everything gleamed. It looked so immaculate, even the older appliances appeared brand-new. Wrapping leftovers in cellophane was a short, plump black woman in a brown cotton dress with a full white apron. She had her back to us.

The strands of her ebony hair were pulled tightly into a thick bun behind her head, but she wore a white kerchief, too. As she worked, she hummed. Beau Andreas knocked on the doorjamb and she spun around quickly.

"I didn't want to frighten you, Nina," he said.

"That'll be the day when you can frighten Nina Jackson, Monsieur Andreas," she said, nodding. She had small dark eyes set close to her nose. Her mouth was small and almost lost in her plump cheeks and above her round jaw, but she had beautifully soft skin that glowed under the kitchen fixtures. Ivory earrings shaped like seashells clung to her small lobes.

"Mademoiselle, you changed again?" she asked incredulously.

Beau laughed. "This isn't Gisselle," he said.

Nina tilted her head.

"Go on with you, monsieur. That t'aint enough of a disguise to fool Nina Jackson."

"No, I'm serious, Nina. This isn't Gisselle," Beau insisted. "Her name is Ruby. Look closely," he told her. "If anyone could tell the difference, it would be you. You practically brought up Gisselle," he said.

She smirked, wiped her hands on her apron, and crossed the kitchen to get closer. I saw she wore a small pouch around her neck on a black shoestring. For a moment she stared into my face. Her black eyes narrowed, burned into mine, and then widened. She stepped back and seized the small pouch between her right thumb and forefinger so she could hold it out between us.

"Who you be, girl?" she demanded.

"My name is Ruby," I said quickly, and shifted my eyes to Beau, who was still smiling impishly.

"Nina is warding off any evil with the voodoo power in that little sack, aren't you, Nina?"

She looked at him and at me and then dropped the sack to her chest again.

"This here, five finger grass," she said. "It can ward off any evil that five fingers can bring, you hear?"

I nodded.

"Who this be?" she asked Beau.

"It's Gisselle's secret sister," he said. "Obviously, twin sister," he added. Nina stared at me again.

"How do you know that?" she asked, taking another step back. "My Grandmère, she told me once about a zombie made to look like a woman. Everyone stuck pins in the zombie and the woman screamed in pain until she died in her bed."

Beau roared.

"I'm not a zombie doll," I said. Still suspicious, Nina stared.

"I daresay if you stick pins in her, Nina, she'll be the one to scream, not Gisselle." His smile faded and he grew serious. "She's traveled here from Houma, Nina, but on the way to the house, she had a bad experience. Someone tried to attack her in an alley."