Madame Forestier went to her dressing-table， took up a large box， brought it to Madame Loisel， opened it， and said：
“Choose， my dear.”
First she saw some bracelets， then a pearl necklace， then a Venetian cross in gold and gems， of exquisite workmanship. She tried the effect of the jewels before the mirror， hesitating， unable to make up her mind to leave them， to give them up. She kept on asking：
“Haven’t you anything else？”
“Yes. Look for yourself. I don’t know what you would like best.”
Suddenly she discovered， in a black satin case， a superb diamond necklace； her heart began to beat covetously. Her hands trembled as she lifted it. She fastened it round her neck， upon her high dress， and remained in ecstasy at sight of herself.
Then， with hesitation， she asked in anguish： “Could you lend me this， just this alone？” “Yes， of course.”
She flung herself on her friend’s breast， embraced her frenziedly， and went away with her treasure.
The day of the party arrived. Madame Loisel was a success. She was the prettiest woman present， elegant， graceful， smiling， and quite above herself with happiness. All the men stared at her， inquired her name， and asked to be introduced to her. All the Under-Secretaries of State were eager to waltz with her. The Minister noticed her.
She danced madly， ecstatically， drunk with pleasure， with no thought for anything， in the triumph of her beauty， in the pride of her success， in a cloud of happiness made up of this universal homage and admiration， of the desires she had aroused， of the completeness of a victory so dear to her feminine heart.
She left about four o’clock in the morning. Since midnight her husband had been dozing in a deserted little room， in company with three other men whose wives were having a good time.
He threw over her shoulders the garments he had brought for them to go home in， modest everyday clothes， whose poverty clashed with the beauty of the ball-dress. She was conscious of this and was anxious to hurry away， so that she should not be noticed by the other women putting on their costly furs.
Loisel restrained her.
“Wait a little. You’ll catch cold in the open. I’m going to fetch a cab.”
But she did not listen to him and rapidly descended the staircase. When they were out in the street they could not find a cab； they began to look for one， shouting at the drivers whom they saw passing in the distance.
They walked down towards the Seine， desperate and shivering. At last they found on the quay one of those old night-prowling carriages which are only to be seen in Paris after dark， as though they were ashamed of their shabbiness in the daylight.
It brought them to their door in the Rue des Martyrs， and sadly they walked up to their own apartment. It was the end， for her. As for him， he was thinking that he must be at the office at ten.
She took off the garments in which she had wrapped her shoulders， so as to see herself in all her glory before the mirror. But suddenly she uttered a cry. The necklace was no longer round her neck！
“What’s the matter with you？” asked her husband， already half undressed.
She turned towards him in the utmost distress.
“I … I … I’ve no longer got Madame Forestier’s necklace…” He started with astonishment.
“What！ … Impossible！”
They searched in the folds of her dress， in the folds of the coat， in the pockets， everywhere. They could not find it.
“Are you sure that you still had it on when you came away from the ball？” he asked.
“Yes. I touched it in the hall at the Ministry.”
“But if you had lost it in the street， we should have heard it fall.” “Yes. Probably we should. Did you take the number of the cab？” “No. You didn’t notice it， did you？”
“No.”
They stared at one another， dumbfounded. At last Loisel put on his clothes again.
“I’ll go over all the ground we walked，” he said， “and see if I can find it.”
And he went out. She remained in her evening clothes， lacking strength to get into bed， huddled on a chair， without volition or power of thought.
Her husband returned about seven. He had found nothing.
He went to the police station， to the newspapers， to offer a reward， to the cab companies， everywhere that a ray of hope impelled him.
She waited all day long， in the same state of bewilderment at this fearful catastrophe.
Loisel came home at night， his face lined and pale； he had discovered nothing.
“You must write to your friend，” he said， “and tell her that you’ve broken the clasp of her necklace and are getting it mended. That will give us time to look about us.”
She wrote at his dictation.
By the end of a week they had lost all hope. Loisel， who had aged five years， declared： “We must see about replacing the diamonds.”
Next day they took the box which had held the necklace and went to the jewellers whose name was inside. He consulted his books.
“It was not I who sold this necklace， Madame； I must have merely supplied the clasp.”
Then they went from jeweller to jeweller， searching for another necklace like the first， consulting their memories， both ill with remorse and anguish of mind.
In a shop at the Palais-Royal they found a string of diamonds which seemed to them exactly like the one they were looking for. It was worth forty thousand francs. They were allowed to have it for thirty-six thousand.
They begged the jeweller not to sell it for three days. And they arranged matters on the understanding that it would be taken back for thirty-four thousand francs， if the first one were found before the end of February.
Loisel possessed eighteen thousand francs left to him by his father. He intended to borrow the rest.
