"Good to see you again, Grandpapa," Auguste said as he dropped into the seat facing Elysee and Nicole, his back to the driver. "Aunt Nicole, it's you who are beautiful. But where's Father?" Grandpapa patted him on the knee. "Not feeling well, I'm afraid. He sends his apologies. We will go to him now, at once." Grandpapa was trying to make his voice sound unconcerned. But Auguste heard an undertone of sorrow, the anguish of a father who had lost one of his children years ago and would soon lose another. With understanding, grief sank into Auguste's marrow. Father--Star Arrow--had hung on these past six years, growing sicker and sicker, the evil in his belly swelling up like a poisonous toad. Now the end was near. Auguste found himself looking deep into Aunt Nicole's eyes, full of shared sorrow. Guichard flicked the reins, and the carriage started off, turning away from the dock, passing the warehouses and rattling down the long dusty-white road that led across the bottomland fields to the bluff. It must have been a good spring out here; though this was only the beginning of July, the corn was already up to a man's waist. Auguste felt he would look better wearing his beaver hat as they rode along. He put it on his head, pulling the rolled-up brim down with both hands, and set it in place with a pat on the crown. "So, you are now a finished graduate of St. George's School?" said Elysee with a smile. "Monsieur Charles Winans has sent long letters full of good reports about you." Aunt Nicole reached over and squeezed his hand. "We're proud of you, Auguste." Her soft, fleshy hand was warm, and her eyes sparkled at him. He sensed a feeling in her that was more than the affection of an aunt for a nephew. She now had eight children, he knew, and every time he had seen her and Frank together, they had seemed very much in love. But Aunt Nicole was a big woman. She had room in her big heart, perhaps, for more than one love. Embarrassed by what he felt radiating from her, Auguste turned to Elysee. "If I learned anything at St. George's, I owe it all to the way you prepared me, Grandpapa. Anyone who could take a boy who could barely speak English, and in two years cram enough knowledge into his head for him to go to secondary school in New York City--such a man is no ordinary teacher." "You were no ordinary pupil, my boy," said Elysee, leaning back in the carriage, his hands resting one on top of the other on his silver-headed cane. "And Pere Isaac laid down a solid foundation in that head of yours. Those Jesuits are good for that, at least, black-hearted rogues though they may be in most other respects." "Papa!" Nicole gave Elysee a reproving frown. Elysee quickly patted her knee. "Forgive me, my child. Let me not shake the faith that sustains you." "It would take more than your wicked tongue to disturb my faith, Papa," Nicole said with a wry smile.