school in the backwoods down in Louisiana—she was educated at Straight College at New Orleans—and then suddenly an uncle died—an uncle who had inherited property in Kentucky from some buckra relation with a conscience—and he left his land to her. Now Lasca was always musical—she played the harmonium at her father's meetings—and when she got her money she came to New York to study.
You know what usually happens when you've been brought up in a minister's family: when you get the chance you cut loose and go to the devil. Well, Lasca certainly cut loose, but in the old days she never quite went to the devil. She always kept a certain dignity. Often I've seen her cut loose at Marshall's—she was just a kid then—towards three in the morning, do an old-fashioned pigeon-wing or a hoe-down—she'd learned all the Southern country-dances on the old plantations. She was good at the new ones, too, the turkey trot and the bunny hug. And when she got through dancing, she'd sit down to the piano and sing a shout or a lively Spiritual.
How did she get to Paris? Mary inquired.
This fellow Sartoris came over here on some French government mission or other; you see he was an official from one of the French provinces. The first time he set eyes on her he fell and they were married right away. He was an old man when she married him, and I don't believe she ever cared much for him, but Lasca knows what she wants and goes after it, more than most of us do.
