"Then you have it?"
"No—I—I can not get it off the finger of that infernal Venus."
"You did not pull hard enough."
"Yes, indeed I did. But the Venus—she has bent her finger."
He stared at me wildly, and leaned against the window-sash to prevent himself from falling.
"What nonsense!" I said. "You pushed the ring on too far. You can get it off to-morrow with pincers. But be careful not to damage the statue."
"No, I tell you. The Venus's finger is crooked, bent under; she clinches her hand, do you hear me? ... She is my wife apparently, since I have given her my ring.... She will not return it."
I shivered, and, for a moment, I was all goose-flesh. Then a great sigh from him brought me a whiff of wine, and all my emotion disappeared.
The wretch, I thought, is dead drunk.
"You are an antiquarian, sir," added the bridegroom in a mournful tone; "you understand those statues; there is, perhaps, some hidden spring, some deviltry which I do not know about. Will you go and see?"