He did borrow it， getting a thousand from one man， five hundred from another， five louis here， three louis there. He gave notes of hand， entered into ruinous agreements， did business with usurers and the whole tribe of money-lenders. He mortgaged the whole remaining years of his existence， risked his signature without even knowing the could honour it， and， appalled at the agonising face of the future， at the black misery about to fall upon him， at the prospect of every possible physical privation and moral torture， he went to get the new necklace and put down upon the jeweller’s counter thirty-six thousand francs.
When Madame Loisel took back the necklace to Madame Forestier， the latter said to her in a chilly voice：
“You ought to have brought it back sooner； I might have needed it.” She did not， as her friend had feared， open the case. If she had noticedthe substitution， what would she have thought？ What would she have said？ Would she not have taken her for a thief ？
Madame Loisel came to know the ghastly life of abject poverty. From the very first she played her part heroically. This fearful debt must be paid off. She would pay it. The servant was dismissed. They changed their flat； they took a garret under the roof.
She came to know the heavy work of the house， the hateful duties of the kitchen. She washed the plates， wearing out her pink nails on the coarse pottery and the bottoms of pans. She washed the dirty linen， the shirts and dish-cloths， and hung them out to dry on a string； every morning she took the dustbin down into the street and carried up the water， stopping on each landing to get her breath. And， clad like a poor woman， she went to the fruiterer， to the grocer， to the butcher， a basket on her arm， haggling， insulted， fighting for every wretched halfpenny of her money.
Every month notes had to be paid off， others renewed， time gained.
Her husband worked in the evenings at putting straight a merchant’s accounts， and often at night he did copying at twopence-halfpenny a page.
And this life lasted ten years.
At the end of ten years everything was paid off， everything， the usurer’s charges and the accumulation of superimposed interest.
Madame Loisel looked old now. She had become like all the other strong， hard， coarse women of poor households. Her hair was badly done， her skirts were awry， her hands were red. She spoke in a shrill voice， and the water slopped all over the floor when she scrubbed it. But sometimes， when her husband was at the office， she sat down by the window and thought of that evening long ago， of the ball at which she had been so beautiful and so much admired.
What would have happened if she had never lost those jewels. Who knows？ Who knows？ How strange life is， how fickle！ How little is needed to ruin or to save！
One Sunday， as she had gone for a walk along the Champs-Elysees to freshen herself after the labours of the week， she caught sight suddenly ofa woman who was taking a child out for a walk. It was Madame Forestier， still young， still beautiful， still attractive.
Madame Loisel was conscious of some emotion. Should she speak to her？ Yes， certainly. And now that she had paid， she would tell her all. Why not？
She went up to her. “Good morning， Jeanne.”
The other did not recognise her， and was surprised at being thus familiarly addressed by a poor woman.
“But … Madame …” she stammered. “I don’t know … you must be making a mistake.”
“No … I am Mathilde Loisel.” Her friend uttered a cry.
“Oh！ … My poor Mathilde， how you have changed！ …”
“Yes， I’ve had some hard times since I saw you last； and many sorrows … and all on your account.”
“On my account！ … How was that？”
“You remember the diamond necklace you lent me for the ball at the Ministry？”
“Yes. Well？” “Well， I lost it.”
“How could you？ Why， you brought it back.”
“I brought you another one just like it. And for the last ten years we have been paying for it. You realise it wasn’t easy for us； we had no money… Well， it’s paid for at last， and I’m glad indeed.”
Madame Forestier had halted.
“You say you bought a diamond necklace to replace mine？” “Yes. You hadn’t noticed it？ They were very much alike.” And she smiled in proud and innocent happiness.
Madame Forestier， deeply moved， took her two hands.
“Oh， my poor Mathilde！ But mine was imitation. It was worth at the very most five hundred francs！ … ”
35
My Uncle Jules
我的叔叔于勒
My family， which came originally from Havre， was not rich. We just managed to make both ends meet. My father worked hard， came home late from the office， and earned very little. I had two sisters.
My mother suffered a good deal from our reduced circumstances， and she often had harsh words for her husband， veiled and sly reproaches. The poor man then made a gesture which used to distress me. He would pass his open hand over his forehead， as if to wipe away perspiration which did not exist， and he would answer nothing. I felt his helpless suffering. We economized on everything， and never would accept an invitation to dinner， so as not to have to return the courtesy. All our provisions were bought at bargain sales. My sisters made their own gowns， and long discussions would arise on the price of a piece of braid worth fifteen centimes a yard. Our meals usually consisted cf soup and beef， prepared with every kind of sauce.
They say it is wholesome and nourishing， but I should have preferred a change.
I used to go through terrible scenes on account of lost buttons and torn trousers.
Every Sunday， dressed in our best， we would take our walk along the breakwater. My father， in a frock coat， high hat and kid gloves， would offer his arm to my mother， decked out and beribboned like a ship on a holiday. My sisters， who were always ready first， would await the signal for leaving； but at the last minute some one always found a spot on my father’s frockcoat， and it had to be wiped away quickly with a rag moistened with benzine.
