The Exiles Read Online Free Page A

saying, “Monsieur Despain, Madame Despain, I welcome you to Fontaine Maison.”
    Charles Despain was the mayor of New Orleans, and his wife, Margaret, was one of the social leaders in the city. The Fontaines had visited many times with the Despains in their home.
    Despain removed his hat and bent over Aimee’s hand to kiss it. “We are an imposition, I fear.”
    “Not at all. Come inside. My husband is not here, and I’m afraid he won’t be back until tomorrow.”
    She turned to Margaret, who kissed her. Margaret Despain, an attractive woman in her late forties, had a real affection for Aimee. Hers was one of the true friendships that Aimee had formed since her arrival in Louisiana.
    Now Aimee said, “Are you hungry? There is food ready.”
    “No, first you must show us the grounds,” Margaret insisted.
    When they had seen the outside, Aimee urged them to come in. “It is a little cold for March. Come inside to the fire.”
    They entered the house, where they were served cafe au lait and pastries. “Our cook is a Cajun,” said Aimee, “and fixes the most fiery dishes you can imagine. She makes the best gumbo in the world.”
    “‘In the world’ means New Orleans. I don’t think gumbo is enjoyed anywhere but Louisiana,” Despain said.
    Aimee took them on a tour of the house, and the pair exclaimed many times over the exquisite furnishings.
    “It feels so much like a home!” Margaret exclaimed. “Many grand houses seem more like museums, but this house has a comfortable feel about it.”
    “I must confess I love it, Margaret. Too much, perhaps. It’s easy to learn to love things instead of God.”
    Margaret laughed and put her hand on her husband’s arm. “I think you should preach a little of that doctrine to my husband. He’s stocking up with houses and land and money as if he were going to live forever.”
    Despain laughed shortly. He was, indeed, a man who loved things, but he did not like to be reminded of it. “Well, I know I won’t be on this earth forever, but I intend to enjoy the time I have here. Now, show us some more of the house.”
    The three ended their tour in the drawing room. It was a large room with deep burgundy rugs on the polished hardwood floors and velvet curtains of the same color pulled to one side at each of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The walls were papered with a flocked gold-and-burgundy paper and were decorated with numerous paintings of landscapes, all with gilded frames.
    A large stone fireplace took up almost the whole wall at the far end; the grate and accessories were made of ornate wrought iron, and a large mantel above held tiny porcelain boxes and vases of all shapes and sizes. There were four high-backed chairs of red-and-ivory damask flanking the fireplace, and a large couch of ivory damask took its place among these. More of the same chairs were placed along the walls of the room, with highly polished mahogany tables and glass lanterns at the sides of some. A beautiful piano stood open with an array of music on its stand.
    Despain said, “It’s a bit of a shame, isn’t it? I suppose you’ll be spending less time here when you go to your new town house.”
    A silence came over the room, and the Despains saw distress in Aimee Fontaine’s eyes.
    “A house in New Orleans?” Aimee said, a thickness coming to her throat. Suddenly the room was uncomfortable.
    “My dear, you should not have said that!” Mrs. Despain said.
    Mr. Despain flushed and stammered an apology. They had lunch and then quickly made their departure. No one spoke again of the house in town. As soon as they were in their carriage, however, and pulling away from Fontaine Maison, Margaret turned to her husband.
    “You are a fool, Charles! Why did you have to mention the house?”
    “I’m afraid you’re right, but I didn’t know it was a secret.”
    “Well, it obviously was! Sometimes I wonder how you ever managed to get elected to any office. You’re the most tactless man who ever