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Updated: May 7, 2025
The friend shuffled his feet and coughed behind his hand. "Yes, I feel bad, me," ruminated the bereaved man. "You get used to some woman in de house and not know where to get anodder." "Haven't you had your share, Jules?" inquired his friend, relaxing gladly to banter. "I have one fine wife, maman to Honoré," enumerated Jules, "and de squaw, and Lavelotte's widow, and Thérèse. It is not much."
"Then there is Lavelotte's widow," continued Honoré. "Three," marked Clethera. Yes, there was Lavelotte's widow, the worst of all. She whipped little Jules unmercifully, and if Honoré had not taken his part and stood before him, she might have ended by being Jules's widow. She stripped him of his whole fortune, four hundred dollars, when he finally obtained a separation from her.
But instead of curing him, this experience only whetted his zest for another wife. "And there is Thérèse." Honoré did not say, "Last, Thérèse." While Jules lived and his wives died, or were traded off or divorced, there would be no last. "It is four," declared Clethera; and the count was true. Honoré had taken Jules in hand like a father, after the adventure with Lavelotte's widow.
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