It was Angela Lindsay's first full day in New Orleans . Royal street sprang into vibrant life in the early hours of the morning , and now the street was filled with vendors hawking their wares , shouting inducement in a mixture of French , Creole , and English that she found most intriguing as she brushed aside the flimsy gauze curtains to open the window . A warm May breeze carried enticing scents upon the gentle currents , smelling of hot bread and the burned-sugar candies called pralines . She had eaten one the day before and found the sweet sugar and nut confection delicious - as was everything in this bustling city .
A smile of satisfaction curved her mouth , and her violet eyes titled slightly at the corners so that she looked as content as a well - fed cat . She was here . At last . It was about time . In the past three years she had practiced her English diligently , certain that the time would soon arrive for her to go to America . And it was as wonderful as she had always dreamed it would be , though sadly , part of her dream had been dashed upon their arrival with the news that John Lindsay had died a few weeks before . She had so wanted to meet her father . . .
"Angeline ! What are you doing ? "Mignon Levasieur Lindsay leaned over her daughter and yanked closed the flimsy curtains over the window . "You make of yourself a spectacle , displaying your face to all those rude barbarians in the street . "
Angela turned away from the hotel window with a shrug , and leaned back on the fat cushions of the horsehair settee to gaze at her mother with a smile . " I refuse to be shut in today . It's so wonderful here . And I thought we could we would never arrive-such a long journey , and that ship was so small and cramped and damp - but at last we are here . "
"Yes , so we are . " Mignon gave her daughter a pinched smile . "But I do not intend to stay long in America , so do not grow too attached . Since he is dead, we will stay only long enough to receive your inheritance , then we go back to France ,where life is civilized instead of so crude . "
"Do you think America is crude ? "Angela glanced back at the window , hidden now by folds of gauze that filtered the bright light . "I think it is terribly exciting . Is this not where you met my father ? "
"Yes . "
Mignon did not elaborate , but Angela could not subdue the curiosity to know more about her father . After all , now it was too late to meet him , a crushing blow . Oh , the few letters had been a link with him , but not enough . More often were the letters from his bankers in New Orleans , not from John Lindsay . He had sent money for her care and education , but it was not at all the same ; no , not at all ...what had he been like , this man who was her father ?
She looked up at her mother . "Tell me about him , Maman . "
"If you mean John Lindsay , I prefer not to think of him . "
Angela's chin came up , and she wound a coppery curl of her hair around a finger , her foot tapping against the floor with rapid irritation as she studied her mother .
"But I must know , " she said finally , her soft tone not meant to hide her determination . " Never are you willing to speak of him . But he was my father , and you must once have cared about him or you would not have wed him so long ago. It was here , was it not - in New Orleans - where you met and married him ? Was he handsome ? Dashing ? Gallant ? Why did you fall in love with him of he was so terrible? "
"Foolish child . You are too young to know about such things . "
"Maman , I am twenty - one years old , well past the age of knowing about such things . You did not think I was too young with Captained Poirier . Or the Belgian consulate we met in Strasbourg , Monsieur Brea lieu . Or - "
