"Gisselle knows nothing then?" I asked.

"Oh, no. Not a hint. There was Daphne to consider. I had hurt her enough as it was. I had to protect her, and there was no way to do that without creating the fabrication that Gisselle was her child.

"One lie, one mistake, usually creates the need for another and another, and before you know it, you've spun a cocoon of deception around yourself. As you see, I'm still doing that, still protecting Daphne.

"Actually, I was fortunate and am fortunate to have Daphne. Besides being a beautiful woman, she's a woman capable of great love. She loved my father and I believe, she accepted all this because of her love for him, as much as her love for me. In fact, she accepted some responsibility."

His head bowed down into the cradle of his hands.

"Because she was unable to get pregnant herself?" I asked. He lifted his eyes quickly.

"Yes," he said. "I see you know a lot more than I thought. You seem like a very mature girl, perhaps a lot more mature than Gisselle.

"Anyway," he continued, "throughout it all, Daphne has maintained her dignity and poise. That's why I think she can teach you a great deal and why, in time, I hope you will accept her as your mother.

"Of course," he added, smiling, "first, I have to get you to accept me as your father. Any healthy man can make a baby with a woman; but not every man can be a father," he said.

I saw there were tears in his eyes when he spoke. As he talked, I sensed every molecule of his being was striving to reach out and force me to understand even what he himself must have found inexplicable.

I bit down on my tongue to keep from asking any questions. It was difficult to breathe, not to be drowned by everything that was happening so fast.

"What's in your bag?" he inquired.

"Oh, just some of my things and some pictures."

"Pictures?" His eyebrows rose with interest.

"Yes." I opened the bag and took out one of the pictures of my mother. He took it slowly and gazed at it for a long moment.

"She does seem like a fairy goddess. My memory of those days is like the memory of a dream, pictures and words that float through my brain on the surface of soap bubbles ready to burst if I try too hard to remember the actual details.

"You and Gisselle look a lot like her, you know. I don't deserve the good fortune of having two of you to remind me of Gabrielle, but I thank whatever Fate has brought you here," he said.

"Grandmère Catherine," I said. "That's who you should thank." He nodded.

"I'll spend as much time with you as I can. I'll show you New Orleans myself and tell you about our family."

"What do you do?" I asked, realizing I didn't even know that much about him. The way I asked, the way my eyes widened at the sight of all these expensive furnishings in this mansion made him laugh.

"Right now I make my money in real estate investments. We own a number of apartment buildings and office buildings and we're involved in a number of developments. I have offices downtown.

"We are a very old and established family, who can actually trace their lineage back to the original Mississippi Trading Company, a French colonial company. My father did a genealogy which I will have to show you some day," he added, smiling. "And he proved that we can trace our lineage back to one of the hundred Fines a la Casette or casket girls."

"What were they?" I asked.

"Women back in France who were carefully chosen from among good middle-class families and each given only a small chest containing various articles of clothing, and sent over to become wives for the Frenchmen settling the area. They didn't have all that much more than you're carrying in your small bag," he added.

"However," he continued, "the Dumas family history isn't filled only with reputable and highly prized things. We had ancestors who once owned and operated one of the elegant gambling houses and even made money on the bordellos in Storyville. Daphne's family has the same sort of past, but she isn't as eager to own up to it," he said.

He rubbed his hands together and stood up.

"Well, we'll have plenty of time to talk about all this. I promise. Right now, I imagine you're tired. You'd like a bath and a chance to relax and go to sleep. In the morning, you can begin your new life, one that I hope will be wonderful for you. May I kiss you and welcome you to what will become your new home and family," he asked.

"Yes," I said and closed my eyes as he brought his lips to my cheek.

My father's first kiss . . . how many times had I dreamt about it, had I seen him in my dreams approach my bed and lean down to kiss me good night, the mysterious father of my paintings who stepped off the canvas and pressed his lips to my cheek and stroked my hair and drove away all the demons that hover in the shadows of our hearts . . . the father I had never known.

I opened my eyes and looked up into his and saw the tears. His eyes were filled with sorrow and pain, and it seemed he aged a little as he stared at me with much regret.

"I'm glad I've finally found you," I said. In an instant, that sorrow that washed over his beautiful eyes disappeared and his face beamed.

"You must be very special. I don't know why I should be this fortunate." He took my hand and led me out of the living room, talking about some of the other rooms, the paintings, the artworks as we approached the winding stairway.

Just as we reached the upstairs landing, a door was thrust open down right and Gisselle stepped out with Beau Andreas right beside her.

"What are you doing with her?" she demanded.

"Take it easy, Gisselle," our father said. "I'll be explaining it all to you in a moment."

"You're putting her in the room next to mine?" she asked, grimacing.

"Yes."

"This is horrible, horrible!" she screamed, and stepped back into her room before slamming the door.

Beau Andreas, who had come out, looked embarrassed. "I think I'd better be going," he said.

"Yes," my father told him.

Beau started away and Gisselle jerked open her door again.

"Beau Andreas, how dare you leave this house without me!" she cried.

"But . . ." He looked at my father. "You and your family have things to discuss, to do and—"

"It can wait until morning. It's Mardi Gras," Gisselle declared, and glared at our father. "I've been waiting all year to attend this ball. All my friends are there already," she moaned.

"Monsieur?" Beau said. My father nodded.

"It can wait until morning," he said.

Gisselle swept back the strands of hair she had shaken over her shoulders in her rage and marched out of her room, glaring at me as she walked by to join Beau Andreas. He looked uncomfortable, but let her take his arm, and then the two of them marched down the stairs, Gisselle pounding each step as she descended.

"She has been so looking forward to this ball," my father explained. I nodded, but my father felt the need to continue to justify her behavior. "It wouldn't do any good to force her to stay. She would be less apt to listen and understand. Daphne does so much better with her when she's like this anyway," he added.

"But I'm sure," he said as we continued toward my new bedroom, "in time she will be overjoyed and excited about getting a sister. She's been an only child too long. She's a bit spoiled. Now," he said, "I have another young lady to spoil, too."

The moment we stepped into my new room, I felt that spoiling had begun. It had a dark pine canopy queen-size bed, the canopy made of fine pearl-colored silk with a fringe border. The pillows were enormous and fluffy looking, the bedspread, pillowcases, and top sheet all in chintz, the flowers full of Color and glazed. The wallpaper duplicated the floral pattern in the linens. Above the headboard was a painting of a beautiful young woman in a garden setting feeding a parrot. There was a cute black and white puppy tugging at the hem of her full skirt. On each side of the bed were two nightstands, each with a bell shaped lamp. But beside a matching dresser and armoire, the room had a vanity table with an enormous oval mirror in an ivory frame, the frame covered with hand painted red and yellow roses. And in the corner beside it, an old French birdcage hung.

"I have my own bathroom?" I asked, gazing through the open doorway on my right. The plush bathroom had a large tub, sink, and commode, all with brass fixtures. There were even flowers and birds hand painted on the tub and sink.

"Of course. Twin sister or not, Gisselle is not the sort you share a bathroom with," my father said, smiling. "This door," he added, nodding at the door on my left, "joins the two rooms. I hope the day will soon come when the two of you will move back and forth through it eagerly."

"So do I," I said. I went to the windows and gazed out at the grounds of the estate. I saw that I faced the pool and the tennis court. Through the open window, I could smell the green bamboo, gardenias, and blooming camellias.

"Do you like it?" my father asked.

"Like it? I love it. It's the most wonderful room I've ever seen," I declared. He laughed at my exuberance.

"It will be something fresh to see someone appreciate everything around here again. So often, things are taken for granted," he explained.

"I'll never take anything for granted again," I promised.

"We'll see. Wait until Gisselle works you over. Well, I see you've been brought a nightgown to use and there's a pair of slippers beside the bed." He opened a closet and there was a pink silk robe hanging in it. "Here's a robe, too. You'll find all you need in the bathroom—new toothbrush, soaps, but should you need anything, just ask. I want you to treat this house as your home as soon as you can," he added.