"Yes, but it was insured."
"Insured? What's that?"
"You mustn't ask me, for I'm only a poor ignorant woman. Only they say that when a ship is insured, you get far more money for it than it was ever really worth."
"And who is to give you money for a few planks rotting at the bottom of the sea, or some stray spars washed ashore?" asked Milena, incredulously.
"Who? Ah! that's more than I can tell. Anyhow, I know it's true, for all that."
Milena, astonished, stared at the poor woman. She asked herself whether grief had not muddled the widow's brain. No, she did not look insane.
"Who told you such foolish things, my poor Stosija?" said she, enquiringly, after a while; "for you know very well that you are speaking nonsense."
"It is no nonsense, for the pop himself told me."
Milena's bewilderment increased.
"Moreover, the priest added that insurances are one of the many sacrilegious inventions which lead men to perdition." Then, lowering her voice to a whisper: "They have a pact with Satan."