He meant, of course, her garter. "My son, choose between the Roman and the Catalanian Venus which you prefer. The rascal took the Catalanian, the better part, for the Roman is black and the Catalanian is white. The Roman is cold, and the Catalanian sets on fire all who come near her." This conclusion excited such an uproar of noisy applause and loud laughter that I thought the roof would fall on our heads. There were but three grave faces at the table--those of the wedded pair and mine. I had a splitting headache; for besides, I know not why, a marriage always makes me feel melancholy. This one disgusted me rather, too. The last couplets were sung by the deputy-mayor, and, I may say, they were very broad; then we went into the salon to witness the departure of the bride, who would soon be conducted to her chamber, as it was nearly midnight. M. Alphonse drew me aside into the recess of a window, and said, as he turned his eyes away from me-- "You will laugh at me ... but I do not know what is the matter with me.... I am bewitched, devil take it!" My first thought was that he fancied he was threatened with some misfortune of the nature of those referred to by Montaigne and Madame de Sévigné: "The whole realm of love is filled with tragic stories." I thought to myself that this kind of mishap only happens to men of genius. "You have drunk too much Collioure wine, my dear M. Alphonse," I said. "I warned you." "That may be. But this is something much more terrible." His voice was broken, and I thought he was quite drunk. "You know my ring?" he continued, after a pause. "Yes. Has it been taken?" "No." "Therefore you have it?" "No--I--I could not get it off the finger of that devil of a Venus." "Nonsense! you did not pull hard enough." "Yes, I did.... But the Venus ... has clenched her finger." He looked at me fixedly with a haggard expression, and leant against the framework to keep himself from falling. "What a ridiculous tale!" I said. "You pushed the ring on too far. To-morrow you must use pincers, only take care not to injure the statue. "No, I tell you. The finger of Venus has contracted and bent up; she closed her hand, do you hear?... She is my wife apparently, because I gave her my ring.... She will not give it back." I shivered suddenly, and for a moment my blood ran cold. Then the deep sigh he gave sent a breath of wine into my face and all my emotion disappeared. "The wretched man is completely drunk," I thought. "You are an antiquarian, Monsieur," the bridegroom added in dismal tones; "you know all about such statues.... There is perhaps some spring, some devilish catch, I do not know of. If you would go and see." "Willingly," I said. "Come with me." "No, I would rather you went by yourself." So I left the salon.