Stupefied, Monsieur Lantin took back the necklace and left the shop. He felt vaguely that he needed to be by himself to think for a while. As soon as he was in the street again he broke into nervous laughter thinking, ‘The fool! The stupid fool! Supposing I’d taken him seriously! Just goes to show … even jewellers aren’t always so expert in their field!’

He went into another jeweller, this time in the rue de la Paix.1 As soon as he saw the piece the goldsmith there cried out: ‘Well I’m dashed! I know this necklace well … it came from us!’

Monsieur Lantin, extremely puzzled, said, ‘Well how much is it worth?’

‘Monsieur, I sold it for 25,000. I can buy it back for 18,000. That’s if you can provide me with your legal title to it, of course.’

This time Monsieur Lantin was so stunned that he had to sit down. ‘Please … please look at it very carefully …,’ he said, ‘… I’ve always thought it was … imitation …’

The jeweller answered: ‘Would you be good enough to give me your name, Monsieur?’

‘Certainly. It’s Lantin. I’m at the Ministry of the Interior and my home address is 16, rue des Martyrs.’2

The dealer opened up his account ledgers, searched for a while, then said: ‘Yes, here we are. The necklace was sent to the home of Madame Lantin, 16 rue des Martyrs on 20 July 1876.’

The two men looked each other in the eye, the clerk lost in amazement, the dealer beginning to smell something fishy.

He went on: ‘Would you mind leaving it with me for twenty-four hours, Monsieur? I should be more than happy to make out a receipt for it, of course.’

Monsieur Lantin stammered: ‘Yes … yes, of course.’

He left the shop, folding up the piece of paper given to him and putting it in his pocket. He crossed the road, walked some way down it, noticed he was in the wrong street, went down as far as the Tuileries, crossed the Seine, then, realizing where he was, retraced his steps again and walked all the way up the Champs Elysées without once having a single clear idea in his head. He made an effort to construct some sort of reason, to try and understand. His wife would never have been able to buy such a valuable piece on her own. Absolutely not. So. It had to be a gift then. A gift! But a gift from whom? And whatever for?

He stopped stock still in the middle of the avenue. A horrible suspicion flashed through his mind. Not her, surely! Because if so, what about all the other jewels? They had to be gifts too! The ground heaved beneath his feet. A tree leaned as if to fall over. He stretched out his arms and collapsed in a dead faint.