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other one before the end of February.
Loisel possessed eighteen thousand francs which his father had left him.
He would borrow the rest.
He did borrow, asking a thousand francs of one, five hundred of
another, five louis here, three louis there. He gave notes, took up
ruinous obligations, dealt with usurers, and all the race of lenders. He
compromised all the rest of his life, risked his signature without even
knowing if he could meet it; and, frightened by the pains yet to come,
by the black misery which was about to fall upon him, by the prospect
of all the physical privations and of all the moral tortures which he was
to suffer, he went to get the new necklace, putting down upon the
merchant's counter thirty-six thousand francs.
When Mme. Loisel took back the necklace, Mme. Forestier said to her,
with a chilly manner:
"You should have returned it sooner, I might have needed it."
She did not open the case, as her friend had so much feared. If she had
detected the substitution, what would she have thought, what would she
have said? Would she not have taken Mme. Loisel for a thief?
Mme. Loisel now knew the horrible existence of the needy. She took

her part, moreover, all on a sudden, with heroism. That dreadful debt
must be paid. She would pay it. They dismissed their servant; they
changed their lodgings; they rented a garret under the roof.
She came to know what heavy housework meant and the odious cares
of the kitchen. She washed the dishes, using her rosy nails on the
greasy pots and pans. She washed the dirty linen, the shirts, and the
dish-cloths, which she dried upon a line; she carried the slops down to
the street every morning, and carried up the water, stopping for breath
at every landing. And, dressed like a woman of the people, she went to
the fruiterer, the grocer, the butcher, her basket on her arm, bargaining,
insulted, defending her miserable money sou by sou.
Each month they had to meet some notes, renew others, obtain more
time.
Her husband worked in the evening making a fair copy of some
tradesman's accounts, and late at night he often copied manuscript for
five sous a page.
And this life lasted ten years.
At the end of ten years they had paid everything, everything, with the
rates of usury, and the accumulations of the compound interest.
Mme. Loisel looked old now. She had become the woman of
impoverished households--strong and hard and rough. With frowsy hair,
skirts askew, and red hands, she talked loud while washing the floor
with great swishes of water. But sometimes, when her husband was at
the office, she sat down near the window, and she thought of that gay
evening of long ago, of that ball where she had been so beautiful and so
feted.
What would have happened if she had not lost that necklace? Who
knows? who knows? How life is strange and changeful! How little a
thing is needed for us to be lost or to be saved!
But, one Sunday, having gone to take a walk in the Champs Élysées to

refresh herself from the labors of the week, she suddenly perceived a
woman who was leading a child. It was Mme. Forestier, still young,
still beautiful, still charming.
Mme. Loisel felt moved. Was she going to speak to her? Yes, certainly.
And now that she had paid, she was going to tell her all about it. Why
not?
She went up.
"Good day, Jeanne."
The other, astonished to be familiarly addressed by this plain good-wife,
did not recognize her at all, and stammered:
"But--madame!--I do not know--You must have mistaken."
"No. I am Mathilde Loisel."
Her friend uttered a cry.
"Oh, my poor Mathilde! How you are changed!"
"Yes, I have had days hard enough, since I have seen you, days
wretched enough--and that because of you!"
"Of me! How so?"
"Do you remember that diamond necklace which you lent me to wear at
the ministerial ball?"
"Yes. Well?"
"Well, I lost it."
"What do you mean? You brought it back."
"I brought you back another just like it. And for this we have been ten
years paying. You can understand that it was not easy for us, us who

had nothing. At last it is ended, and I am very glad."
Mme. Forestier had stopped.
"You say that you bought a necklace of diamonds to replace mine?"
"Yes. You never noticed it, then! They were very like."
And she smiled with a joy which was proud and naïve at once.
Mme. Forestier, strongly moved, took her two hands.
"Oh, my poor Mathilde! Why, my necklace was paste. It was worth at
most five hundred francs!"

The Man with
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