"My father-in-law told me of your father's demands and his willingness to permit you to give up the baby."

"And you would want this, too?" I asked, not hiding my surprise.

"I would like to see my father-in-law happy and . . . I'd like to have a child in the house. We could have adopted, of course, but he or she wouldn't have been a Dumas. You carry a Dumas and that means a great deal to my father-in-law.

"I have come here because your father has now informed my father-in-law that you refused to give up the baby, no matter how much money was offered. I hope to change your mind, but if you do, it will have to be immediately, for I am planning to take an extended holiday, during which time I will . . ."

"Pretend to be pregnant," I said. "I understand, only all too well."

"Oui. That is my plan. So you see, if this is to happen, there can't be any more delays. It will either happen or it won't now. Soon it will be obviously impossible for us, for me, to take the baby as my own."

"But no matter what you do, it won't be your baby, madame," I reminded her.

"It will be Pierre's child, and therefore, it will be mine. We are married; we are as one, whether Pierre recognizes that fact or not. I have come to assure you I will accept the child as my own and I will raise him or her to be a Dumas. The child will have all the benefits, the education, the finest things, and will be with the father," Madame Dumas added pointedly.

I started to shake my head. "I can't give up my child . . ."

"Why not? You think by holding on to the child, you will somehow hold on to Pierre?" she asked, her smile widening. "I assure you, Gabrielle, Pierre is out of your life. He is a rich Creole gentleman. He's had flings before and I've overlooked them before, but this time . . . this time he's gone too far and he knows he has.

"Look at the alternative, Gabrielle," she said, sitting back. She nodded toward the shack. "Your life will become more of a struggle. Your parents will have to work harder and harder. You will feel more and more guilty. It will affect the way you treat the child. Oui, "she said before I could protest, "it will. You won't even recognize it and maybe not even think it, but it will nevertheless.

"And if you should meet another man, someone who will want to marry you even with a child, you will be afraid that he will come to resent the child, that he will look at the child and think this is the child of another man, another man she loved, and not my child, and here I am working to support this child. Then there will be arguments and resentments.

"And if you don't ever find another man, what do you have to offer this child? What hope for the future? How will she or he attend school, for example? Will the other children in the bayou accept this fatherless child or will he or she always feel inferior? You know what happens then, Gabrielle? The child begins to resent you for bringing her or him into such a circumstance.

"Are you prepared for all this? Why should you be?" she added before I could even think of a response. "Why should you have to worry and think about ways to avoid this hardship? I am the first to admit my husband abused you."

"No," I said. "He didn't do anything that I didn't want him to do."

"I see?' She smirked and sat back again. "Then you are happy?"

She stared at me a moment. This woman with her expensive clothing, her well-manicured nails and styled coiffure, her makeup, jewels, and her urban sophistication, was so different from me, we could be speaking different languages, and yet our destinies had crossed and intertwined us in ways neither of us could ever imagine.

"You are a pretty girl," she said in a softer voice after a short pause. "A natural beauty and perhaps not as young as you appear." She leaned toward me, fixing those light blue eyes on me. "Whether we like it or not, pretty girls, beautiful women like us, are often victims simply because we are attractive. Yes, in some ways I am a victim, too. I know I look rich and successful to you, but like you, I find myself in circumstances I would like to change, but can't. Like you, I'm trapped. I'm in a different sort of cage, but nevertheless, I'm not free."

She looked away for a moment, and ray heart, which had hardened against her from the moment I set eyes on her, softened a bit.

"I'd like to be a mother," she said, facing the window and gazing at the darkness across the way. "I'd like to be the mother of my husband's child."

She dabbed her eyes with an embroidered silk handkerchief and then gazed at me. "Will you do it?" she asked. "My father-in-law will give your father the money he wanted, too. It will help your family, your mother. . . ."

"I won't do it because of the money," I said. She nodded. "If I do it, I would do it for Pierre and because . . . because a lot of what you said is probably true."

"Oui. I am sorry. I wish I had given my husband more so he wouldn't have come here to spoil your life, too."

"He didn't," I said, and then felt foolish for saying it.

"Nevertheless, if I would have been able to give him his child, my marriage would have been more successful. It still can be," she said. "You and I can take hold of some happiness and turn something bad into something good, especially for the poor, unknowing child you carry inside you. N'est-ce pas?"

I thought for a moment and then I nodded.

She smiled warmly, beaming with tears in her eyes.

"Merci, mademoiselle. Oh, mademoiselle, merci." She reached out with a hand full of rings to touch mine. I felt as if I were extending my arm from one world into another, from reality to illusion. She took hold, smiled, and then released my fingers.

"Would you like something cold to drink?" she offered, nodding at the bottle.

"No, thank you, Madame Dumas."

"You have given my father-in-law a new lease on life, Gabrielle. I can't wait to return to New Orleans to tell him. He's mostly in a state of depression these days. Perhaps you know about my brother-in-law."

"Oui. "

"And my poor mother-in-law, who died shortly after the accident. So you see, rich people have no guarantee of happiness. Money can't buy everything."

"My daddy thinks it can," I said sadly. "And unfortunately, I'm only firming up that belief now."

"Yes, well, I'm sure he will realize the truth eventually. Thank you for listening to me," she added with a tone of finality. I recognized she wanted to leave. The moment my hand touched the door handle, the chauffeur opened it and stepped back. He held it open as I turned.

"Au revoir, Gabrielle," Daphne Dumas said. She looked like a beautiful mannequin set in the corner of that long leather seat. "I don't expect we shall see each other again, but I promise to be a good mother."

I simply nodded and the chauffeur closed the door.

"Good evening, mademoiselle," he said, tipping his hat. He went around to get into the limousine. I stood there watching him drive it away, the white automobile moving like a ghost into the darkness. For a moment I wondered, had I really had this conversation, or had it all been a dream?

I returned to the galerie and sat in the rocker. I was still there when Mama returned from her traiteur mission. Orville Baldwin brought her home in his van. She was surprised to see me waiting up for her.

"I thought you would be asleep," she said as she approached the steps.

"I'm about ready for bed now, Mama."

"Me too," she said, stretching.

"How's Maddie?"

Mama shook her head. "I think she's going to have a hard delivery. I'm worried about the baby, too," she said in a dark voice. Despite the heat and humidity, her words put a chill in my bones. "I'll do what I can, of course," she said, and started for the screen door.

"Mama."

"Yes, Gabrielle?"

"I've changed my mind about my baby. I've decided Pierre should have the child and should bring him or her up in New Orleans."

"What?" She stepped back. "Why?"

"It'll be best all around, Mama."

"Are you sure of this, Gabrielle?" Her expression changed quickly as an angry thought rippled through her face. "Your daddy didn't come around here threatening or haranguing you now, did he?" she asked.

"No, Mama."

"Because if he did . . ."

"No, Mama. He didn't. I swear."

"Hmm," she said, still very suspicious. "And Pierre? Was he here?"

"No, Mama."

She thought a moment. "You've made up your mind on this?"

"Oui, Mama. I have," I said firmly.

She nodded. "Well . . . this has to be your own decision, Gabrielle. If that's what you want." She opened the screen door. "Suddenly I feel twenty years older. That bed's looking better and better to me. You had better come up to sleep, too, honey."

I stood up. Mama's eyes washed over me quickly. "I know you're hurting something bad, honey, and I'm hurting for you."

"I know, Mama," I said. I went to her and she held me for a moment, kissing my hair and my forehead. Then we went inside together, holding on to each other until we ascended the stairs and went to sleep.

Two days later Daddy appeared on the front galerie late in the morning. Mama was in the kitchen cooking, and I was folding some pillowcases and linen we had woven to sell. The moment the screen door squeaked, Mama turned. When she saw it was Daddy, she left the ingredients bubbling in her black cast-iron pot and came charging forward.

"Don't you set foot in this house, Jack Landry," she cried, holding the ladle up like a club.

He hesitated. "Now, just hold on, Catherine. I come by because I heard you and Gabrielle have come to your senses."

"What?" Mama turned to look at me as I approached. She tightened her eyes into slits of suspicion and fixed them on Daddy. "Who told you that?"

"The Dumas," he said. "Why? Ain't it true?"

"What's true is you're still the scoundrel you was before. Nothing's changed as to that."

Daddy shook his head. "I swear, Cajun women can drive you mad. I just stopped by to discuss the arrangements," he protested. "Or did you think you'd sidestep me somehow? Did ya?" he asked, turning to me, now with his own suspicions clouding his eyes.

"No, Daddy."

"All right, then. Here's what's going to be. I'm asking for half the money now and half the money on delivery. I'll have some for you in a few days' time," he said, nodding.

"Don't you bring any of that blood money around here, Jack Landry," Mama said.

"What are you talking about? You act like you don't know nothing, and you're the ones who've gone and fixed it," he protested, his voice rising in pitch.

Mama bit down on her lower lip and stared at him. He got nervous and closed the screen door between them.

"All right. I'll come by another time and we'll talk about it again. But you're going to have to keep me up-to-date now, so I will know when exactly to tell them to be here, Catherine."

"Go back to the swamp, Jack, and sleep with your pack of snakes."

"You ain't cuttin' me outta this," he threatened, waving his long right forefinger at us. "You ain't. I'll be back," he muttered, and kept mumbling as he left the galerie. The moment he was gone, Mama turned on me.

"How did he find out? How did the Dumas family find out you changed your mind, Gabrielle?"

"I'm sorry, Mama. I had hoped to take care of everything myself. I didn't want to cause you any more trouble."

"I had a inkling in my bones when I come home from Maddie Baldwin's the other night. Did you lie to me, Gabrielle? Was Pierre here?"

"No, Mama." I paused and then added, "But his wife was."

"His wife?" She sat on the overstuffed chair, her face full of amazement.

"We talked a long time in her limousine and I saw she was sincere about becoming a mother. She made sense to me and opened my eyes to reality, Mama."

"His wife came pleading for you to give them the child?" she asked with disbelief.

"Yes, Mama."

She shook her head. "She wasn't embarrassed?"

"I suppose she was, Mama, but she's a very dignified and sophisticated lady. I saw how much the baby would be offered living with the Dumas family and 'how hard things would be for us here. Besides, that's a family that's suffered a lot of tragedy, Mama. Pierre's baby might just be the medicine to cure some of the sadness and give them hope."

"After what you've been through, I know how you wanted to keep your child, Gabrielle."

"I got to do what's best for the baby, though, don't I, Mama?"