Instead of rhapsodizing as her husband expected, she groaned:

‘So what?’

‘But, my dear,’ he said, ‘I thought you’d be so pleased! You never go out and this is such an occasion, really! I had the devil’s own job getting us an invitation. Everybody wants to go. But not everyone is allowed. Specially not clerks! The whole Ministry will be there in all its glory!’

She cast an irritated glance in his direction: ‘And what on earth do you imagine I could put on for such an occasion, may I ask?’

He was unprepared for this and stammered: ‘Well … what you wear for the theatre, I suppose. That always looks good to me …’

He stopped in his tracks, distracted not to say dumbfounded by the fact that his wife was now weeping. Two huge tears, welling in her eyes, began to slide slowly down towards the corners of her mouth.

‘What?’ he stuttered again, ‘what on earth is the matter?’

With huge effort she overcame her obviously painful emotion and replied in a calm voice as she wiped away her tears: ‘Nothing. It’s just that I haven’t got anything to wear. I can’t go. Give the invitation to somebody who can.’

He was devastated but continued: ‘Listen, Mathilde. How much would it cost to get something suitable, d’you think? Something you could maybe get some wear out of later on … something fairly classic?’

She thought for a moment, totting up sums in her head and also taking into account how much she could ask for without shocking her careful husband into an immediate refusal.

Eventually, with some hesitation, she replied: ‘I’m not sure exactly. I think I might be able to manage with 400 francs.’

He paled a little at this. It was the exact amount he had intended to put aside to buy a rifle and pay for a few days’ shooting at Nanterre the following summer. He and some friends were hoping to bag a few larks there on the occasional Sunday outing. Putting this out of his head he said: ‘Fine. Four hundred it is. But make sure you get something really special for that, won’t you?’

The date was fast approaching. Despite the fact that her new dress was ready and waiting, Madame Loisel seemed anxious, even worried, and more than a little sad.

One evening, her husband cried: ‘What on earth’s the matter with you now? You’ve been out of sorts for three whole days, for goodness’ sake!’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but I haven’t a single piece of jewellery to go with the dress. I shall look like a pathetic nobody. I’d almost prefer not to go at all.’

‘What about flowers?’ he said, ‘especially at this time of the year! The beauty of nature! For ten francs you could get two or three quite magnificent roses!’