Madame Forestier went to a wardrobe with a mirror， tookout a large jewel box， brought it back， opened it and said toMadame Loisel：
“Choose， my dear.”
She saw first some bracelets， then a pearl necklace， thena Venetian gold cross set with precious stones， of admirableworkmanship. She tried on the ornaments before the mirror，hesitated and could not make up her mind to part with them， togive them back. She kept asking：
“Haven’t you any more？”
“Why， yes. Look further； I don’t know what you like.”
Suddenly she discovered， in a black satin box， a superbdiamond necklace， and her heart throbbed with an immoderatedesire. Her hands trembled as she took it. She fastened it roundher throat， outside her high-necked waist， and was lost inecstasy at her reflection in the mirror.
Then she asked， hesitating， filled with anxious doubt：
“Will you lend me this， only this？”
“Why， yes， certainly.”
She threw her arms round her friend’s neck， kissed herpassionately， then fled with her treasure.
The night of the ball arrived. Madame Loisel was a greatsuccess. She was prettier than any other woman present，elegant， graceful， smiling and wild with joy. All the menlooked at her， asked her name， sought to be introduced. Allthe attaches of the Cabinet wished to waltz with her. She wasremarked by the minister himself.
She danced with rapture， with passion， intoxicated bypleasure， forgetting all in the triumph of her beauty， in theglory of her success， in a sort of cloud of happiness comprisedof all this homage， admiration， these awakened desires and ofthat sense of triumph which is so sweet to woman’s heart.
She left the ball about four o’clock in the morning. Herhusband had been sleeping since midnight in a little desertedanteroom with three other gentlemen whose wives wereenjoying the ball.
He threw over her shoulders the wraps he had brought， themodest wraps of common life， the poverty of which contrastedwith the elegance of the ball dress. She felt this and wished toescape so as not to be remarked by the other women， who wereenveloping themselves in costly furs.
Loisel held her back， saying： “Wait a bit. You will catch coldoutside. I will call a cab.”
But she did not listen to him and rapidly descended thestairs. When they reached the street they could not find acarriage and began to look for one， shouting after the cabmenpassing at a distance.
They went toward the Seine in despair， shivering with cold.
At last they found on the quay one of those ancient night cabswhich， as though they were ashamed to show their shabbinessduring the day， are never seen round Paris until after dark.
It took them to their dwelling in the Rue des Martyrs， andsadly they mounted the stairs to their flat. All was ended forher. As to him， he reflected that he must be at the ministry atten o’clock that morning.
She removed her wraps before the glass so as to see herselfonce more in all her glory. But suddenly she uttered a cry. Sheno longer had the necklace around her neck！
“What is the matter with you？” demanded her husband，already half undressed.
She turned distractedly toward him.
“I have—I have—I’ve lost Madame Forestier’s necklace，”
she cried.
He stood up， bewildered.
“What！—how？ Impossible！”
They looked among the folds of her skirt， of her cloak， in herpockets， everywhere， but did not find it.
“You’re sure you had it on when you left the ball？” he asked.
“Yes， I felt it in the vestibule of the minister’s house.”
“But if you had lost it in the street we should have heard itfall. It must be in the cab.”
“Yes， probably. Did you take his number？”
“No. And you—didn’t you notice it？”
“No.”
They looked， thunderstruck， at each other. At last Loisel puton his clothes.
“I shall go back on foot，” said he， “over the whole route， tosee whether I can find it.”
He went out. She sat waiting on a chair in her ball dress，without strength to go to bed， overwhelmed， without any fire，without a thought.
Her husband returned about seven o’clock. He had foundnothing.
He went to police headquarters， to the newspaper offices tooffer a reward； he went to the cab companies—everywhere， infact， whither he was urged by the least spark of hope.
She waited all day， in the same condition of mad fear beforethis terrible calamity.
Loisel returned at night with a hollow， pale face. He haddiscovered nothing.
“You must write to your friend，” said he， “that you havebroken the clasp of her necklace and that you are having itmended. That will give us time to turn round.”
She wrote at his dictation.
At the end of a week they had lost all hope. Loisel， who hadaged five years， declared：
“We must consider how to replace that ornament.”
The next day they took the box that had contained it andwent to the jeweler whose name was found within. Heconsulted his books.
“It was not I， madame， who sold that necklace； I mustsimply have furnished the case.”