"You want to know w'at, precisely, I was doing at de moment de river demand my ring? I was praying to her! Sure!" (This last in a whisper.)
"Oh-h-h!" Adolphe's face lit. "Yas, I understand. I ricollec'. You mean about five year pas'—dat time yo' sister los' 'er firs' 'usband, w'en—?"
"Yas, exac'ly. So you see dat predicament in w'ich I was placed wid de river. I never liked po' Jacques Renault—" He shrugged his shoulders. "I never profess to like him, mais he was my brud'-in-law; an' my po' sister—you know Felicité—she is my twin. She done not'ing but cry, cry, cry for fo' days an' nights, an' pay all 'er money in de poor-box to find him. An' dey tried every way to bring him up. So me, I say not'ing, mais w'en de fif day is come I loan from my cousin Achilles his wide skiff, an' I start out, an' I row two mile below w'ere dey foun' 'is clo'es an' hat, an' den I pull up again—an' wid every stroke I pray to de river to grant me dat satisfaction to find po' Jacques an' to lay him in his grave.
"Tell you de trut', maybe I am a sinner to say it, mais I was half afraid in my heart dat maybe Jacques was playing 'possum an' some day he would come back; an' w'en somebody is dead—dat's one terrible dread, yas—to get such a surprise, especially for one widow, you understand. It is a restriction, more or less, according to—Well, never mind.
"You may b'lief me or not, mais w'en de river she require of me dat ring, laying her wet hand over my hand like to take it, at de same time she turn it to de sun—well, I am not stupid. I dropped it quick to her, an' den I looked close, yas, on de water, an' immediately I see one—"
"You said jus' now you saw only de glare of de sun—"
"Exac'ly—an' den, naturally, one black spot befo' my eye, an' I t'ink it is de sun; mais—
"Well, 't is a disagreeable picture. Never mind! De river she give me de swap, an' we had one fine funeral de nex' day; an' my po' sister Felicité had her consolation.
"So, like I say, w'at consideration was one small diamond ring for such a pleasure?
"A widow widout a grave is like a wind in Feb'uary—crying always forever aroun' de house, wid nowhere to go, an' in her eyes are all kinds of weather. Bff!