The Exiles
“I cannot fix your hair.”
Aimee looked into the mirror and gave a smile of pure joy. “I’m sorry, Elise. I just can’t seem to keep still today.”
“You are very happy, madame. I am glad to see it.”
Indeed, Elise was glad to see her mistress in such good spirits. Thinking back over the past few months, when they had first taken up residence in the town house on Chartres Street in the French Quarter, the maid had noticed that Aimee was not happy. This had been a puzzle to Elise, for to her the city was exciting—not nearly so boring as the Fontaine Plantation had been. She had found many suitors here, but she was aware that her mistress longed for the life in the country. Now she continued to brush Aimee’s hair and said, “Why are you so happy, madame?”
“I just am,” Aimee said. She turned suddenly and said, “Oh, you may pick up my new dress at Monsieur Benet’s shop today, Elise. I don’t have the money for it. Just tell him to put it on our account.”
“Shall I go now?”
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