destroy some-one else's life? Why was Grandmere
Catherine so sure this was the right thing for me to
do? My twin sister obviously resented my very
existence? What was to keep my father from doing the
same? My heart teetered on the edge of a precipice,
ready to plunge and die if he came into this house and
rejected me.
Shortly after, I heard the sound of Edgar
Farrar's footsteps as he raced down the corridor to
open the front door. I heard other voices and people
hurrying in.
"In the living room, monsieur," Beau Andreas
called, and a moment later my eyes took in my real
father's face. How many times had I sat before my
mirror and imagined him by transposing my own
facial features onto the blank visage I conjured before me? Yes, he had the same soft green eyes and we had the same shaped nose and chin. His face was leaner, firmer, his forehead rolled back gently under the shock of thick chestnut hair brushed back at the sides
with just a small pompadour at the front.
He was tall, at least six feet two, and had a slim
but firm looking torso with shoulders that sloped
gracefully into his arms, the physique of a tennis
player, easily discernable in his Mardi Gras costume:
a tight fitting silver outfit designed to resemble a suit
of armor, such as those worn by medieval knights. He
had the helmet in his arms. He fastened his gaze on
me and his face went from a look of surprise and
astonishment to a smile of happy amazement. Before a word was spoken, Daphne Dumas
came up beside him. She wore a bright blue tunic with
long, tight sleeves, the skirt of which had a long train
and an embroidered gold fringe. It fit closely down to
her hips, but was wider after. It was buttoned in front