The slaves all thought he was mad.” The vampire raised his eyebrows in wonder. “I was convinced that he was only… overzealous. That in his love for God, he had perhaps gone too far. Then he told me about the visions. Both St. Dominic and the Blessed Virgin Mary had come to him in the oratory. They had told him he was to sell all our property in Louisiana, everything we owned, and use the money to do God’s work in France. My brother was to be a great religious leader, to return the country to its former fervor, to turn the tide against atheism and the Revolution. Of course, he had no money of his own. I was to sell the plantations and our town houses in New Orleans and give the money to him.”

Again the vampire stopped. And the boy sat motionless regarding him, astonished. “Ah… excuse me,” he whispered. “What did you say? Did you sell the plantations?”

“No,” said the vampire, his face calm as it had been from the start. “I laughed at him. And he… he became incensed. He insisted his command came from the Virgin herself. Who was I to disregard it? Who indeed?” he asked softly, as if he were thinking of this again. “Who indeed? And the more he tried to convince me, the more I laughed. It was nonsense, I told him, the product of an immature and even morbid mind. The oratory was a mistake, I said to him; I would have it torn down at once. He would go to school in New Orleans and get such inane notions out of his head. I don’t remember all that I said. But I remember the feeling. Behind all this contemptuous dismissal on my part was a smoldering anger and a disappointment. I was bitterly disappointed. I didn’t believe him at all.”

“But that’s understandable,” said the boy quickly when the vampire paused, his expression of astonishment softening. “I mean, would anyone have believed him?”

“Is it so understandable?” The vampire looked at the boy. “I think perhaps it was vicious egotism. Let me explain.