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me, was startling. Of course, she was Papa’s sister, too, just as Adrienne was, so why did I feel this sudden urge to run away? Did I not want to be part of their lives? Deep inside, I did, but the reminder that these very people had not once come to find us stifled me. I had a thousand questions. Why had they left us alone? Did they have news of my father or brothers? Yet I said nothing. Aubazine had taught me to be guarded.
    “Oh, my goodness, look at you!” exclaimed Tante Louise. “So like my brother Albert yet as petite as your mother. And you, Julia: why you’re as lovely as a cameo.” Kissing my sister and me on our cheeks, she swept usinside her home with its upholstered furnishings and cupboard displaying porcelain plate and silverware—clear signs that she’d married into a class higher than the one into which she’d been born.
    She served tea with napkins, and little cakes with frosting. “Are you hungry, my dear? Go on, eat some more. Poor thing, you look half starved. Don’t they feed you enough at the convent? They do? Well, then, you’re not eating as you should. Look at Julia here, she’s far more flesh on her bones. You’re too thin. Now, let me see: I have this nice fresh bread and smoked ham. The ham was cured right here in Varennes! Come now. Eat some. No, more. Now, don’t be shy. This is not the convent, my dear. Here, you may eat your fill.”
    With my stomach engorged, I was hurried into the parlor, a corner suited to feminine sensibilities. Here, there was a bit of a mess for such an otherwise neat household, baskets of multicolored trims, remnants of lace, and spools of ribbons strewn everywhere save for the woven-backed chairs. On the worktable were several bonnets in various stages of adornment, lined up like plump children awaiting inspection.
    “Gabrielle has been dying to see these!” Adrienne said. “She’s been so curious about how you make the capotes . I saw Angélique at the convent wearing one and Gabrielle has been asking about it ever since. She is quite determined.”
    An exaggeration, of course, but a clever one that caught Tante Louise’s attention. She swerved her bright, birdlike gaze to me. “Is that so? Do you sew, my dear?”
    “Yes,” I mumbled, swallowing a belch that tasted of cured ham. “In the convent, I—”
    Julia piped up, “She was the best seamstress in Aubazine. The nuns always praised her work. She can trim a handkerchief, mend a sleeve, or turn a hem so that it looks perfect, like new. Isn’t that so, Gabrielle?”
    I nodded uncertainly. Hearing my sister extol my skills made me uncomfortable.
    “Oh, that is high praise, indeed,” said Louise. “The nuns are notoriously hard to please. Such perfectionists! Would you like to work on a hat withme, my dear? Go on, don’t be shy. Here, take this one.” She thrust a bonnet into my hands. “It’s not finished yet and I’ve so many to attend to before the season starts in Vichy.” She directed an exasperated look at Adrienne. “I ask you, how hard can it be for those merchants to learn their own trade? By my word, they wait until the last minute, taking orders from all and sundry, they’re so eager, and then they run about in a panic because they cannot be paid until the order is delivered to the customer’s satisfaction and . . .”
    Her babble of woes faded as I contemplated the thing she had set into my palms. It wasn’t finished ? To me, it looked as if it were about to grow legs and walk clucking into the garden, laden with carnation baubles, streamers, and sprigs of orange plume.
    I became aware of the sudden silence, and glanced up to see the three of them watching me expectantly. The polite thing to do was say it was perfect and return it to its overdressed siblings. What did I know about hats? Yet I found myself staring at it closely, everything fading around me, disappearing, as it had in Aubazine when I’d toiled over camellias on a handkerchief. I reached out