But now she felt, on seeing Jean’s reluctance to go, as though she were in some subtle manner guilty of disloyalty to Jean. Suddenly contrite, her eyes filled with tears and she clung to Jean in passionate repudiation of her joy at leaving. She realized Jean was speaking—had been talking to her for some minutes. “… And yet it ought not to be hard for me. Neither Margot nor I have ever consciously sought to keep from you the fact that the Negro blood in you set you aside, here in America, as one apart, though we have tried to shield you as much as we could from the embarrassments that blood can bring you.”
“Oh, is that all that was troubling you, papa Jean?” laughed Mimi.
“You can afford to laugh here in Creole New Orleans,” Jean cautioned. “But away from here it’s a different matter. Here in the place we know I want to tell you of some of the stock from which we Daquins come. It’s a record we’re proud of—we’ve helped build this Louisiana of ours—much of what we did’s been forgotten but it’s there, just the same. I’m telling you, for when you run up against hard situations later on in life and we all