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 coupés 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, he 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 Mrs. Forestier's necklace."
He arose in dismay: "What! How is that? It is not possible."
And they looked in the folds of the dress, in the folds of the mantle, in the pockets, everywhere. They could not find it.
He asked: "You are sure yon still had if when we 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 fail. It must be in the cab."
"Yes. It is probable. 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 every thing 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 his face harrowed and pale; and had discovered nothing.
"It will be necessary," said he, "to write to your friends 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:
