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She looked at him with an irritated eye, and she said, impatiently:

“And what do you want me to put on my back?”

He had not thought of that; he stammered:

“Why the dress you go to the theater in. It looks very well, to me. ”

He stopped, distracted, seeing that his wife was crying. Two great tears descended slowly from the corners of her eyes towards the corners of her mouth. He stuttered:

“What’s the matter? What’s the matter?”

But, by a violent effort, she had conquered her grief, and she replied, with a calm voice, while she wiped her wet cheeks:

“Nothing. Only I have no dress, and therefore I can’t go to this ball. Give your card to some colleague whose wife is better equipped than I. ”

He was in despair. He resumed:

“Come, let us see, Mathilde. How much would it cost, a suitable dress, which you could use on other occasions, something very simple?”

She reflected several seconds, making her calculations and wondering also what sum she could ask without drawing on herself an immediate refusal and a frightened exclamation from the economical clerk.

Finally, she replied, hesitatingly:

“I don’t know exactly, but I think I could manage it with four hundred francs. ”

He had grown a little pale, because he was laying aside just that amount to buy a gun and treat himself to a little shooting next summer on the plain of Nanterre, with several friends who went to shoot larks down there, of a Sunday.

But he said:

“All right. I will give you four hundred francs. And try to have a pretty dress. ”

The day of the ball drew near, and Mme. Loisel seemed sad, uneasy, anxious. Her dress was ready, however. Her husband said to her one evening:

“What is the matter? Come, you’ve been so queer these last three days. ”

And she answered:

“It annoys me not to have a single jewel, not a single stone, nothing to put on. I shall look like distress. I should almost rather not go at all. ”

He resumed:

“You might wear natural flowers. It’s very stylish at this time of the year. For ten francs you can get two or three magnificent roses. ”

She was not convinced.

“No; there’s nothing more humiliating than to look poor among other women who are rich. ”

But her husband cried:

“How stupid you are! Go look up your friend Mme. Forestier, and ask her to lend you some jewels. You’re quite thick enough with her to do that. ”

She uttered a cry of joy:

“It’s true. I never thought of it. ”

The next day she went to her friend and told of her distress.

Mme. Forestier went to a wardrobe with a glass door, took out a large jewel-box, brought it back, opened it, and said to Mme. Loisel:

“Choose, my dear. ”

She saw first of all some bracelets, then a pearl necklace, then a Venetian cross, gold, and precious stones of admirable workmanship. She tried on the ornaments before the glass, hesitated, could not make up her mind to part with them, to give them back. She kept asking:

“Haven’t you any more?”

“Why, yes. Look. I don’t know what you like. ”

All of a sudden she discovered, in a black satin box, a superb necklace of diamonds; and her heart began to beat with an immoderate desire. Her hands trembled as she took it. She fastened it around her throat, outside her high-necked dress, and remained lost in ecstasy at the sight of herself.

Then she asked, hesitating, filled with anguish:

“Can you lend me that, only that?”

“Why, yes, certainly. ”

She sprang upon the neck of her friend, kissed her passionately, then fled with her treasure.

The day of the ball arrived. Mme. Loisel made a great success. She was prettier than them all, elegant, gracious, smiling, and crazy with joy. All the men looked at her, asked her name, endeavored to be introduced. All the attachés of the Cabinet wanted to waltz with her. She was remarked by the minister himself.