He threw over her shoulders the outdoor clothing he had brought for going home; ordinary, workaday garments which clashed violently with the sumptuousness of her evening dress. She was only too aware of the contrast and tried to run away so as not to be seen by other women now wrapping themselves up in rich furs.

Loisel held her back: ‘Hang on, do! You’ll catch your death outside! Let me call a cab.’

But she was no longer listening, already running down the stairs. Out in the street, not a carriage was to be seen. They set off to look for one, shouting out to the drivers of those they could dimly make out in the distance.

Shivering with cold and disappointment, they walked down as far as the Seine. There they found one of those ancient, bone-rattling vehicles which appear in Paris only after dark, as if ashamed to venture out in daylight. It took them to their place in the rue des Martyrs, where they sorrowfully dragged themselves upstairs. For her, it was all over now. As for her husband, he would have to be back at the Ministry for work by ten.

She shook off her outer clothing so as to look in the mirror and catch one final glimpse of herself in all her glory. Suddenly she cried out loud. The necklace was no longer around her neck!

Her husband, already half-undressed, asked: ‘Are you all right?’

Turning to him and half out of her mind she said: ‘It’s … it’s … Madame Forestier’s necklace … it’s gone!’

He stood up, horrified: ‘Gone? What d’you mean gone? It can’t have!’

They searched in the folds of her dress, of her coat, in the pockets, everywhere. No sign.

‘Are you sure,’ he asked, ‘are you sure you had it when we left the ball?’

‘Yes! I remember feeling it in the vestibule at the Ministry!’

‘But if you’d dropped it in the street, we’d have heard, wouldn’t we? It must have been in the cab.’

‘Yes. Most likely. Did you take the number?’

‘No. Did you? Did you look?’

‘No.’

They stared at each other aghast. Finally Loisel got dressed again.

‘Look,’ he said, ‘I’ll go back on foot exactly the way we came and see if I can’t find it.’

And out he went. Still in her evening dress, she remained awake, slumped in a chair, with no fire and no energy left to summon a single thought to her mind.

At about seven in the morning her husband returned. He had found nothing.

He went to the police and to the newspapers. He advertised a reward. He went to all the cab companies and to wherever the slightest hope might still remain. All day long, in the same stunned state of shock produced by this catastrophe, she waited.

Loisel returned in the evening, his face pale and his cheeks hollow. Again he had found nothing.