"Mrs. Mills forgot to lock the gate," she said, smiling at him. "All of us who live here have our keys and are supposed to lock the gate when we go out. But Mrs. Mills forgets."
"I'll leave," he said, not moving.
"No, stay," she said. "You're a visitor to town, aren't you? There's no reason why you can't see a French Quarter courtyard, if you wish."
Beauregard moved closer to her.
"I'm Beauregard Courtney," he said. For some reason, he omitted the "Senator."
"Gard," she said in a low voice, her big eyes fixed on his face. "Gard Courtney."
Somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, faint memory stirred. Was it the memory of a dream?
"Have I dreamed that we met before?" he asked slowly. "Piquette?"
"You know!" she exclaimed, her face lighting gloriously. "I didn't dream alone!"
"No," he said. "No. You didn't dream alone. Your name is Piquette, isn't it? I don't know why I said that. It seemed right."