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."