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 attaches of the Cabinet wanted to waltz with her.  She was remarked by the minister himself.

She danced with intoxication, with passion, made drunk by pleasure, forgetting all, in the triumph of her beauty, in the glory of her success, in a sort of cloud of happiness composed of all this homage, of all this admiration, of all these awakened desires, and of that sense of complete victory which is so sweet to woman’s heart.

She went away about four o’clock in the morning.  Her husband had been sleeping since midnight, in a little deserted anteroom, with three other gentlemen whose wives were having a very good time.

He threw over her shoulders the wraps which he had brought, modest wraps of common life, whose poverty contrasted with the elegance of the ball dress.  She felt this and wanted to escape so as not to be remarked by the other women, who were enveloping themselves in costly furs.

Loisel held her back.

“Wait a bit.  You will catch cold outside.  I will go and call a cab.”

But she did not listen to him, and rapidly descended the stairs.  When they were in the street they did not find a carriage; and they began to look for one, shouting after the cabmen whom they saw passing by at a distance.

They went down toward the Seine, in despair, shivering with cold.  At last they found on the quay one of those ancient noctambulent coupes which, exactly as if they were ashamed to show their misery during the day, are never seen round Paris until after nightfall.

It took them to their door in the Rue des Martyrs, and once more, sadly, they climbed up homeward.  All was ended for her.  And as to him, he reflected that he must be at the Ministry at ten o’clock.