That is the rule in that region.
In the good old times of duels, and bagatelle-clubs, and theatre-balls, and Cayetano's circus, Kristian Koppig rooming as described, there lived in the portion of this house, partly overhanging the archway, a palish handsome woman, by the name--or going by the name--of Madame John.

You would hardly have thought of her being "colored." Though fading, she was still of very attractive countenance, fine, rather severe features, nearly straight hair carefully kept, and that vivid black eye so peculiar to her kind.

Her smile, which came and went with her talk, was sweet and exceedingly intelligent; and something told you, as you looked at her, that she was one who had had to learn a great deal in this troublesome life.
"But!"-- the Creole lads in the street would say--"-- her daughter!" and there would be lifting of arms, wringing of fingers, rolling of eyes, rounding of mouths, gaspings and clasping of hands.

"So beautiful, beautiful, beautiful! White ?--white like a water lily! White--like a magnolia!" Applause would follow, and invocation of all the saints to witness.
And she could sing.
"Sing ?" (disdainfully)--"if a mocking-bird can _sing_! Ha!" They could not tell just how old she was; they "would give her about seventeen." Mother and daughter were very fond.

The neighbors could hear them call each other pet names, and see them sitting together, sewing, talking happily to each other in the unceasing French way, and see them go out and come in together on their little tasks and errands.