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"It's fifteen," he said. Then he paused. "Maybe
sixteen. I don't know if I should count the cook's
quarters as one room or two. And of course, there's
the ballroom."
"Ballroom? In a house?"
"We have some rooms that haven't been used
for anything yet. If I count them, too . . ."
"Mon Dieu! Is there much land around it?" "We have some outbuildings, a stable, a pool,
and a tennis court. I never measured it, but I bet it's
over an acre of land."
"You have a stable in the city?" He nodded.
"Are you the richest family in New Orleans?" I
wondered, wide-eyed.
He laughed. "Hardly. In this section there are a
number of large estates like ours."
"How tiny and poor our shack must seem to
you," I said, gazing down as ashamedly as someone
caught with holes in the soles of her shoes.
"But how large and rich it is because you live in
it," he replied. I blushed and continued eating, feeling
his eyes constantly on me.
"Perhaps one day you will visit New Orleans,"
he said. "Daddy says he will take us as soon as he
earns enough money to take us in style."
"Of course. New Orleans is a city to which you
should go in style," Pierre said. "As for earning
enough money . . . I expect he will have my father for
a steady customer. He is impressed with your father's
knowledge of the swamp."
"My daddy is the best Cajun guide in the
