He was dumfounded, but replied:
"Come, Mathilde, let us see now—how much would a suitable dress cost; one you could wear at other times—something quite simple?"
She pondered several moments, calculating, and guessing too, how much she could safely ask for without an instant refusal or bringing down upon her head a volley of objections from her frugal husband.
At length she said hesitatingly, "I can't say exactly, but I think I could do with four hundred francs."
He changed color because he was laying aside just that sum to buy a gun and treat himself to a little shooting next summer on the plain of Nanterre, with several friends, who went down there on Sundays to shoot larks. Nevertheless, he said: "Very well, I will give you four hundred francs. Get a pretty dress."
The day of the ball drew nearer, and Mme. Loisel seemed despondent, nervous, upset, though her dress was all ready. One evening her husband observed: "I say, what is the matter, Mathilde? You have been very queer lately." And she replied, "It exasperates me not to have a single ornament of any kind to put on. I shall look like a fright—I would almost rather stay at home." He answered: "Why not wear flowers? They are very fashionable at this time of the year. You can get a handful of fine roses for ten francs."
But she was not to be persuaded. "No, it's so mortifying to look poverty-stricken among women who are rich."
Then her husband exclaimed: "How slow you are! Go and see your friend, Mme. Forestier, and ask her to lend you some jewels. You know her well enough to do that."
She gave an exclamation of delight: "True! I never thought of that!"
Next day she went to her friend and poured out her woes. Mme. Forestier went to a closet with a glass door, took out a large jewel box, brought it back, opened it, and said to Mme. Loisel, "Here, take your choice, my dear."