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and stepped toward me again.
"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
