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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.
