She was one of those pretty, charming young ladies, born, as if through an
error of destiny, into a family of clerks. She had no dowry,
no hopes, no means of becoming known, appreciated, loved, and married by
a man either rich or distinguished; and she allowed herself to marry a petty
clerk in the office of the ministry of education....
She was simple, not being able to adorn herself; but she was unhappy,
as one out of her class; for women belong to no caste, no race; their grace,
their beauty, and their charm serving them in the place of birth and family.
Their inborn finesses, their instinctive elegance, their suppleness of wit are
their only aristocracy, making some daughters of the people the equal of great
ladies.
She suffered incessantly, feeling herself born for all delicacies
and luxuries. She suffered from the poverty of her apartment, the
shabby walls, the worn chair, and the faded stuff. All these things,
which another woman of her station would not have noticed, tortured
and angried her.The sight of the little Breton, who made this humble abode,
awoke in her sad regrets and desperate dreams. She thought of quiet
antechambers, with their Oriental hangings, lighted by high, bronze torches,
and of the two great footmen in short trousers who sleep in the large armchairs,
made sleepy by the heaving air from the heating apparatus. She thought of
large drawing-rooms, hung in old silks, of graceful pieces of furniture carrying
brick-a-brac of inestimable value, and of the little perfumed coquettish
apartments, made for five o-clock chats with most intimate friends, men known
and sought after, whom attention all women envied and desired.
When she seated herself for dinner, before the round table where the
tablecloth had been used for three days, opposite her husband, who uncovered the
tureen with a delighted air, saying, "Oh, the good
potpie! I know nothing better than that -" she would think of elegant dinners,
of the shining silver, of the tapestries peopling the walls with ancient personages
and rare birds in the midst of fairy forests; she thought of the exquisite food served
on marvelous dishes, of the whispered gallantries, listened to with the smile of
the sphinx, while eating the rose-colored flesh of the trout or a chicken's wing.
She had neither frocks nor jewels, nothing. And she loved only those things.
She felt that she was made for them. She had such a desire to please, to be sought
after, to be clever, and courted.
She had a rich friend, a former schoolmate at the convent, whom she did not like to visit,
she suffered so much when she returned. And she wept for whole days from chagrin,
from regret, from despair, and disappointment.
One evening her husband returned elated, bearing in his hand a large envelope.
"Here," he said, "here is something for you."
She quickly tore open the wrapper and drew out a printed card on which were inscribed
these words:
"The Minister of Public Instruction and Madame George Ramponneau ask
the honor of Monsieur. and Madame Loisel's company Monday evening, January 18,
at the Minister's residence."
Instead of being delighted, as her husband had hoped, she threw the
invitation spitefully upon the table murmuring:
"What do you suppose I want with that?"
"But, my dearie, I thought it would make you happy. You never go out, and this
is an occasion, and a fine one! I had a great deal of trouble to get it. Everyone
wishes one, and it is very select, not many are given to employees. You will see
the whole official world there."
She looked at him with an irritated eye and declared impatiently:
"What do you suppose I have to wear to such a thing as that?"
He had not thought of that; he stammered:
"Why, the dress you wear when we go to the theater. It seems very pretty to me -"
He was silent, stupefied, in dismay at the sight of his wife weeping. Two great
tears fell slowly from the corners of her eyes toward the corners of her mouth;
he stammered:
"What is the matter? What is the matter?"
By a violent effort, she had controlled her vexation and responded in a calm
voice, wiping her moist cheeks:
"Nothing. Only I have no dress and consequently I cannot go to this affair.
Give your card to some colleague whose wife is better fitted out than I."
He was grieved but answered:
"Let us see, Mathilde. How much would a suitable costume cost, something that
would serve for other occasions, something very simple?"
She reflected for some seconds, making estimates and thinking of a sum that
she could ask for without bringing with it an immediate refusal and a
frightened exclamation from the economical clerk.
Finally, she replied, in a hesitating voice:
"I cannot tell exactly, but it seems to me that four hundred
francs ought to cover it."
He turned a little pale, for he had saved just this sum to buy a gun that he might
be able to join some hunting parties the next summer,on the plains of Nanterre,
with some friends who went to shoot larks up there on Sunday.
Nevertheless, he answered:
"Very well. I will give you four hundred francs. But try to have a
pretty dress."
The day of the ball approached, and Madame Loisel seemed sad, disturbed,
anxious. Nevertheless, her dress was nearly ready. Her husband said to her one
evening:
"What is the matter with you? You have acted strangely for two or three days."
And she responded: "I am vexed not to have a jewel, not one stone, nothing
to adorn myself with. I shall have such a poverty-laden look. I would prefer not
to go to this party."
He replied: "You can wear some natural flowers. At this season they look very chic.
For ten francs you can have two or three magnificent roses."
She was not convinced. "No," she replied, "there is nothing more humiliating than
to have a shabby air in the midst of rich women."
Then her husband cried out: "How stupid we are! Go and find your friend Madame Forestier, and ask her
to lend you her jewels. You are well enough acquainted with her to do this."
She uttered a cry of joy: "It is true!" she said. " I had not thought of that."
The next day she took herself to her friend's house and related her story of distress.
Madame Forestier went to her closet with the glass doors, took out a large
jewel-case, brought it, opened it, and said: "Choose, my dear."
She saw at first some bracelets, then a collar of pearls, then a
Venetian cross of gold and jewels and of admirable workmanship. She
tried the jewels before the glass, hesitated, but could neither decide to take them nor
leave them. Then she asked: "Have you nothing more?"
"Why, yes. Look for yourself. I do not know what will please you."
Suddenly she discovered, in a black satin box, a superb necklace
of diamonds, and her heart beat fast with an immoderate desire. Her
hands trembled as she took them up. She placed them about her throat against
her dress, and remained in ecstasy before them.Then she asked, in a hesitating
voice, full of anxiety:
"Could you lend me this? Only this?"
"Why, yes, certainly."
She fell upon the neck of her friend, embraced her with passion, then went away with her treasure.
The day of the ball arrived. Madame Loisel was a great success. She was
the prettiest of all, elegant, gracious, smiling, and full of joy.
All the men noticed her, asked her name, and wanted to be presented.
All the members of the Cabinet wished to waltz with her. The Minister of
Education paid her some attention.
She danced with enthusiasm, with passion, intoxicated by pleasure,
thinking of nothing, in the triumph of her beauty, in the glory of her
success, in a kind of cloud of happiness that came off all this homage,
and all this admiration, of all these awakened desires, and this victory
so complete and sweet to the heart of woman.
She went home toward four o'clock in the morning. Her husband had been
half asleep in one of the little salons since midnight, with three
other gentlemen whose wives were enjoying themselves very much.
He threw over her shoulders the wraps they had carried for the coming home,
modest garments of everyday wear, whose poverty clashed with the elegance
of the ball costume. She felt this and wished to hurry away in order not to be
noticed by the other women who were wrapping themselves in rich furs.
Loisel retained her: "Wait," said he. "You will catch cold out there. I am going
to call a cab."
But she would not listen and descended the steps rapidly. When
they were in the street, they found no carriage; and they began to
seek for one, hailing the coachmen whom they saw at a distance.
They walked along toward the Seine, hopeless and shivering. Finally
they found on the dock one of those old, nocturnal coupes that one sees
in Paris after nightfall, as if they were ashamed of their misery by day.
It took them as far as their door in Martyr Street, and they went wearily up
to their apartment. It was all over for her. And on his part, her remembered
that he would have to be at the office by ten o'clock.
She removed the wraps from her shoulders before the glass,
for a final view of herself in her glory. Suddenly she
uttered a cry. Her necklace was not around her neck.
Her husband, already half undressed, asked: "What is the matter?"
She turned toward him excitedly: "I have--I have--I no longer
have Madame Forestier's necklace."
He arose in dismay: "What! How is that? It is not possible"
And they looked in the folds of her dress, in the folds of the mantle,
in her pockets, everywhere. They could not find it.
He asked: "You are sure you still had it when you left the house?"
"Yes, I felt it in the vestibule as we came out."
"But if you had lost it in the street, we should have heard it fall. It
must be in the cab."
"Yes. It is probably. Did you take the number?"
"No. And you, did you notice what it was?"
"No."
They looked at each other utterly cast down. Finally, Loisel dressed himself
again.
"I am going," said he, "over the track where we went on foot, to see if I can
find it."
And he went. She remained in her evening gown, not having the force to go
to bed, stretched upon a chair, without ambition or thoughts.
Toward seven o'clock her husband returned. He had found nothing.
He went to the police and to the cab offices, and put an advertisement in the
newspapers, offering a reward; he did everything that afforded them a suspicion of hope.
She waited all day in a state of bewilderment before this frightful disaster. Loisel returned
at evening with this face harrowed and pale; and had discovered
nothing.
"It will be necessary," said he, "to write to your friend that you have broken the
clasp of the necklace and that you will have it repaired. That will give
us time to turn around."
She wrote as he dictated.
At the end of a week, they had lost all hope. And Loisel, older by five years,
declared: "We must take measures to replace this jewel."
The next day they took the box which had inclosed it, to
the jeweler whose name was on the inside. He consulted his books.
"It is not I, Madame," said he, "who sold this necklace; I only simply have
furnished the casket."
Then they went from jeweler to jeweler seeking a necklace like
the other one, consulting their memories, and ill, both of them, with chagrin
and anxiety.
In a shop of the Palais Royal, they found a chaplet of diamonds which
seemed to them exactly like the one they had lost. It was valued at forty
thousand francs. They could get it for thirty-six thousand.
They begged the jeweler not to sell it for three days. And they
made an arrangement by which they might return it for thirty-four thousand
francs if they found the other one before the end of February.
Loisel possessed eighteen thousand francs which his father had left
him. He would borrow the rest.
He borrowed it, asking for a thousand francs of one, five hundred of
another, five louis of this one, and three louis of that one. He gave notes,
made ruinous promises, took money of usurer and the whole race of
lenders. He compromised his whole existence, in fact, risked his signature,
without even knowing if he could make it good or not, and, harassed by
anxiety for the future, by the black misery which surrounded him, and by the
prospect of all physical privations and moral torture, he went to get the new
necklace, depositing on the merchant's counter thirty-six thousand francs.
When Madame Loisel took back the jewels to Madame Forestier, the latter
said to her in a chilly tone: "You should have returned them to me
sooner, for I might have needed them."
She did not open the jewel-box as her friend feared she would. If she should
perceive the substitution, what would she think? What would she say?
Would she take her for a robber?
Madame Loisel now knew the horrible life of necessity. She did her
part, however, completely, heroically It was necessary to pay this frightful
debt. She would pay it. They sent away the maid; they changed their lodgings;
they rented some rooms under a mansard roof.
She learned the heavy cares of a household, the odious work of a kitchen.
She washed the dishes, using her rosy nails on the greasy pots
and the bottom of the stew pans. She washed the soiled linen, the chemises
and dish-cloths, which she hung on the line to dry; she took down the refuse
to the street each morning and brought up the water, stopping at each landing
to breathe. And, clothed like a woman of the people, she went to the
grocer's, the butcher's, and the fruiterer's, with her basket on her arm,
shopping, haggling over the last sou of her miserable money.
Every month it was necessary to renew some notes, thus obtaining time, and
to pay others.
The husband worked evenings, putting the books of some merchants in order,
and nights he often did copying at five sous a page.
And this life lasted for ten years.
At the end of ten years, they had restored all, all, with interest of the
usurer, and the accumulated interest besides.
Madame Loisel seemed old now. She had become a strong, hard woman, the
crude woman of the poor household. Her hair badly dressed, her skirts awry,
her hands red, she spoke in a loud tone, and washed the floors with large
pails of water. But sometimes, when her husband was at the office,
she would seat herself before the window and think of that evening party of
former times, of that ball where she was so beautiful and so flattered.
How would it have been if she had not lost that necklace? Who knows? Who knows?
How singular is life, and how full of changes! How small a thing will ruin or save one!
One Sunday, as she was taking a walk in the Champs-Elysees, to
rid herself of the cares of the week, she suddenly perceived a
woman walking with a child. It was Madame Forestier, still young,
still pretty, still attractive. Madame Loisel was affected. Should she speak to her?
Yes, certainly. And now that she had paid, she would tell her all. Why
not?
She approached her. "Good morning, Jeanne."
Her friend did not recognize her and was astonished to be so familiarly addressed
by this common personage. She stammered: "But, Madame!--I do not know--
You must have mistaken."
"No. I am Mathilde Loisel."
Her friend uttered a cry of astonishment. "Oh! my poor Mathilde! How you are changed-"
"Yes, I have had some hard days since I saw you, and some miserable ones--
and all because of you--"
"Because of me? How is that?"
"You recall the diamond necklace that you loaned me to wear to the Commissioner's
ball?"
"Yes. very well."
"Well, I lost it."
"How is that, since you returned it to me?"
"I returned another to you exactly like it. And it has taken us ten years to pay for it.
You can understand that it was not easy for us who have nothing. But it is
finished and I am decently contented."
Madame Forestier stopped short. She said:
"You say that you bought a necklace of diamonds to replace mine?"
"Yes. You did not perceive it then! They were just alike."
And she smiled with a proud and simple joy. Madame Forestier was touched
and took both her hands as she replied:
"Oh, my poor Mathilde! Mine were false. They were not worth over
five hundred francs!
by Guy de Maupassant
She was one of those pretty, charming young ladies, born, as if through an
error of destiny, into a family of clerks. She had no dowry,
no hopes, no means of becoming known, appreciated, loved, and married by
a man either rich or distinguished; and she allowed herself to marry a petty
clerk in the office of the ministry of education....
She was simple, not being able to adorn herself; but she was unhappy,
as one out of her class; for women belong to no caste, no race; their grace,
their beauty, and their charm serving them in the place of birth and family.
Their inborn finesses, their instinctive elegance, their suppleness of wit are
their only aristocracy, making some daughters of the people the equal of great
ladies.
She suffered incessantly, feeling herself born for all delicacies
and luxuries. She suffered from the poverty of her apartment, the
shabby walls, the worn chair, and the faded stuff. All these things,
which another woman of her station would not have noticed, tortured
and angried her.The sight of the little Breton, who made this humble abode,
awoke in her sad regrets and desperate dreams. She thought of quiet
antechambers, with their Oriental hangings, lighted by high, bronze torches,
and of the two great footmen in short trousers who sleep in the large armchairs,
made sleepy by the heaving air from the heating apparatus. She thought of
large drawing-rooms, hung in old silks, of graceful pieces of furniture carrying
brick-a-brac of inestimable value, and of the little perfumed coquettish
apartments, made for five o-clock chats with most intimate friends, men known
and sought after, whom attention all women envied and desired.
When she seated herself for dinner, before the round table where the
tablecloth had been used for three days, opposite her husband, who uncovered the
tureen with a delighted air, saying, "Oh, the good
potpie! I know nothing better than that -" she would think of elegant dinners,
of the shining silver, of the tapestries peopling the walls with ancient personages
and rare birds in the midst of fairy forests; she thought of the exquisite food served
on marvelous dishes, of the whispered gallantries, listened to with the smile of
the sphinx, while eating the rose-colored flesh of the trout or a chicken's wing.
She had neither frocks nor jewels, nothing. And she loved only those things.
She felt that she was made for them. She had such a desire to please, to be sought
after, to be clever, and courted.
She had a rich friend, a former schoolmate at the convent, whom she did not like to visit,
she suffered so much when she returned. And she wept for whole days from chagrin,
from regret, from despair, and disappointment.
One evening her husband returned elated, bearing in his hand a large envelope.
"Here," he said, "here is something for you."
She quickly tore open the wrapper and drew out a printed card on which were inscribed
these words:
"The Minister of Public Instruction and Madame George Ramponneau ask
the honor of Monsieur. and Madame Loisel's company Monday evening, January 18,
at the Minister's residence."
Instead of being delighted, as her husband had hoped, she threw the
invitation spitefully upon the table murmuring:
"What do you suppose I want with that?"
"But, my dearie, I thought it would make you happy. You never go out, and this
is an occasion, and a fine one! I had a great deal of trouble to get it. Everyone
wishes one, and it is very select, not many are given to employees. You will see
the whole official world there."
She looked at him with an irritated eye and declared impatiently:
"What do you suppose I have to wear to such a thing as that?"
He had not thought of that; he stammered:
"Why, the dress you wear when we go to the theater. It seems very pretty to me -"
He was silent, stupefied, in dismay at the sight of his wife weeping. Two great
tears fell slowly from the corners of her eyes toward the corners of her mouth;
he stammered:
"What is the matter? What is the matter?"
By a violent effort, she had controlled her vexation and responded in a calm
voice, wiping her moist cheeks:
"Nothing. Only I have no dress and consequently I cannot go to this affair.
Give your card to some colleague whose wife is better fitted out than I."
He was grieved but answered:
"Let us see, Mathilde. How much would a suitable costume cost, something that
would serve for other occasions, something very simple?"
She reflected for some seconds, making estimates and thinking of a sum that
she could ask for without bringing with it an immediate refusal and a
frightened exclamation from the economical clerk.
Finally, she replied, in a hesitating voice:
"I cannot tell exactly, but it seems to me that four hundred
francs ought to cover it."
He turned a little pale, for he had saved just this sum to buy a gun that he might
be able to join some hunting parties the next summer,on the plains of Nanterre,
with some friends who went to shoot larks up there on Sunday.
Nevertheless, he answered:
"Very well. I will give you four hundred francs. But try to have a
pretty dress."
The day of the ball approached, and Madame Loisel seemed sad, disturbed,
anxious. Nevertheless, her dress was nearly ready. Her husband said to her one
evening:
"What is the matter with you? You have acted strangely for two or three days."
And she responded: "I am vexed not to have a jewel, not one stone, nothing
to adorn myself with. I shall have such a poverty-laden look. I would prefer not
to go to this party."
He replied: "You can wear some natural flowers. At this season they look very chic.
For ten francs you can have two or three magnificent roses."
She was not convinced. "No," she replied, "there is nothing more humiliating than
to have a shabby air in the midst of rich women."
Then her husband cried out: "How stupid we are! Go and find your friend Madame Forestier, and ask her
to lend you her jewels. You are well enough acquainted with her to do this."
She uttered a cry of joy: "It is true!" she said. " I had not thought of that."
The next day she took herself to her friend's house and related her story of distress.
Madame Forestier went to her closet with the glass doors, took out a large
jewel-case, brought it, opened it, and said: "Choose, my dear."
She saw at first some bracelets, then a collar of pearls, then a
Venetian cross of gold and jewels and of admirable workmanship. She
tried the jewels before the glass, hesitated, but could neither decide to take them nor
leave them. Then she asked: "Have you nothing more?"
"Why, yes. Look for yourself. I do not know what will please you."
Suddenly she discovered, in a black satin box, a superb necklace
of diamonds, and her heart beat fast with an immoderate desire. Her
hands trembled as she took them up. She placed them about her throat against
her dress, and remained in ecstasy before them.Then she asked, in a hesitating
voice, full of anxiety:
"Could you lend me this? Only this?"
"Why, yes, certainly."
She fell upon the neck of her friend, embraced her with passion, then went away with her treasure.
The day of the ball arrived. Madame Loisel was a great success. She was
the prettiest of all, elegant, gracious, smiling, and full of joy.
All the men noticed her, asked her name, and wanted to be presented.
All the members of the Cabinet wished to waltz with her. The Minister of
Education paid her some attention.
She danced with enthusiasm, with passion, intoxicated by pleasure,
thinking of nothing, in the triumph of her beauty, in the glory of her
success, in a kind of cloud of happiness that came off all this homage,
and all this admiration, of all these awakened desires, and this victory
so complete and sweet to the heart of woman.
She went home toward four o'clock in the morning. Her husband had been
half asleep in one of the little salons since midnight, with three
other gentlemen whose wives were enjoying themselves very much.
He threw over her shoulders the wraps they had carried for the coming home,
modest garments of everyday wear, whose poverty clashed with the elegance
of the ball costume. She felt this and wished to hurry away in order not to be
noticed by the other women who were wrapping themselves in rich furs.
Loisel retained her: "Wait," said he. "You will catch cold out there. I am going
to call a cab."
But she would not listen and descended the steps rapidly. When
they were in the street, they found no carriage; and they began to
seek for one, hailing the coachmen whom they saw at a distance.
They walked along toward the Seine, hopeless and shivering. Finally
they found on the dock one of those old, nocturnal coupes that one sees
in Paris after nightfall, as if they were ashamed of their misery by day.
It took them as far as their door in Martyr Street, and they went wearily up
to their apartment. It was all over for her. And on his part, her remembered
that he would have to be at the office by ten o'clock.
She removed the wraps from her shoulders before the glass,
for a final view of herself in her glory. Suddenly she
uttered a cry. Her necklace was not around her neck.
Her husband, already half undressed, asked: "What is the matter?"
She turned toward him excitedly: "I have--I have--I no longer
have Madame Forestier's necklace."
He arose in dismay: "What! How is that? It is not possible"
And they looked in the folds of her dress, in the folds of the mantle,
in her pockets, everywhere. They could not find it.
He asked: "You are sure you still had it when you left the house?"
"Yes, I felt it in the vestibule as we came out."
"But if you had lost it in the street, we should have heard it fall. It
must be in the cab."
"Yes. It is probably. Did you take the number?"
"No. And you, did you notice what it was?"
"No."
They looked at each other utterly cast down. Finally, Loisel dressed himself
again.
"I am going," said he, "over the track where we went on foot, to see if I can
find it."
And he went. She remained in her evening gown, not having the force to go
to bed, stretched upon a chair, without ambition or thoughts.
Toward seven o'clock her husband returned. He had found nothing.
He went to the police and to the cab offices, and put an advertisement in the
newspapers, offering a reward; he did everything that afforded them a suspicion of hope.
She waited all day in a state of bewilderment before this frightful disaster. Loisel returned
at evening with this face harrowed and pale; and had discovered
nothing.
"It will be necessary," said he, "to write to your friend that you have broken the
clasp of the necklace and that you will have it repaired. That will give
us time to turn around."
She wrote as he dictated.
At the end of a week, they had lost all hope. And Loisel, older by five years,
declared: "We must take measures to replace this jewel."
The next day they took the box which had inclosed it, to
the jeweler whose name was on the inside. He consulted his books.
"It is not I, Madame," said he, "who sold this necklace; I only simply have
furnished the casket."
Then they went from jeweler to jeweler seeking a necklace like
the other one, consulting their memories, and ill, both of them, with chagrin
and anxiety.
In a shop of the Palais Royal, they found a chaplet of diamonds which
seemed to them exactly like the one they had lost. It was valued at forty
thousand francs. They could get it for thirty-six thousand.
They begged the jeweler not to sell it for three days. And they
made an arrangement by which they might return it for thirty-four thousand
francs if they found the other one before the end of February.
Loisel possessed eighteen thousand francs which his father had left
him. He would borrow the rest.
He borrowed it, asking for a thousand francs of one, five hundred of
another, five louis of this one, and three louis of that one. He gave notes,
made ruinous promises, took money of usurer and the whole race of
lenders. He compromised his whole existence, in fact, risked his signature,
without even knowing if he could make it good or not, and, harassed by
anxiety for the future, by the black misery which surrounded him, and by the
prospect of all physical privations and moral torture, he went to get the new
necklace, depositing on the merchant's counter thirty-six thousand francs.
When Madame Loisel took back the jewels to Madame Forestier, the latter
said to her in a chilly tone: "You should have returned them to me
sooner, for I might have needed them."
She did not open the jewel-box as her friend feared she would. If she should
perceive the substitution, what would she think? What would she say?
Would she take her for a robber?
Madame Loisel now knew the horrible life of necessity. She did her
part, however, completely, heroically It was necessary to pay this frightful
debt. She would pay it. They sent away the maid; they changed their lodgings;
they rented some rooms under a mansard roof.
She learned the heavy cares of a household, the odious work of a kitchen.
She washed the dishes, using her rosy nails on the greasy pots
and the bottom of the stew pans. She washed the soiled linen, the chemises
and dish-cloths, which she hung on the line to dry; she took down the refuse
to the street each morning and brought up the water, stopping at each landing
to breathe. And, clothed like a woman of the people, she went to the
grocer's, the butcher's, and the fruiterer's, with her basket on her arm,
shopping, haggling over the last sou of her miserable money.
Every month it was necessary to renew some notes, thus obtaining time, and
to pay others.
The husband worked evenings, putting the books of some merchants in order,
and nights he often did copying at five sous a page.
And this life lasted for ten years.
At the end of ten years, they had restored all, all, with interest of the
usurer, and the accumulated interest besides.
Madame Loisel seemed old now. She had become a strong, hard woman, the
crude woman of the poor household. Her hair badly dressed, her skirts awry,
her hands red, she spoke in a loud tone, and washed the floors with large
pails of water. But sometimes, when her husband was at the office,
she would seat herself before the window and think of that evening party of
former times, of that ball where she was so beautiful and so flattered.
How would it have been if she had not lost that necklace? Who knows? Who knows?
How singular is life, and how full of changes! How small a thing will ruin or save one!
One Sunday, as she was taking a walk in the Champs-Elysees, to
rid herself of the cares of the week, she suddenly perceived a
woman walking with a child. It was Madame Forestier, still young,
still pretty, still attractive. Madame Loisel was affected. Should she speak to her?
Yes, certainly. And now that she had paid, she would tell her all. Why
not?
She approached her. "Good morning, Jeanne."
Her friend did not recognize her and was astonished to be so familiarly addressed
by this common personage. She stammered: "But, Madame!--I do not know--
You must have mistaken."
"No. I am Mathilde Loisel."
Her friend uttered a cry of astonishment. "Oh! my poor Mathilde! How you are changed-"
"Yes, I have had some hard days since I saw you, and some miserable ones--
and all because of you--"
"Because of me? How is that?"
"You recall the diamond necklace that you loaned me to wear to the Commissioner's
ball?"
"Yes. very well."
"Well, I lost it."
"How is that, since you returned it to me?"
"I returned another to you exactly like it. And it has taken us ten years to pay for it.
You can understand that it was not easy for us who have nothing. But it is
finished and I am decently contented."
Madame Forestier stopped short. She said:
"You say that you bought a necklace of diamonds to replace mine?"
"Yes. You did not perceive it then! They were just alike."
And she smiled with a proud and simple joy. Madame Forestier was touched
and took both her hands as she replied:
"Oh, my poor Mathilde! Mine were false. They were not worth over
five hundred francs!