LITMIR.BIZ

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ones, remained seated, with rather a formal air, on some crimson velvet chairs; while the fourth, who was about forty-five, was arranging some flowers in a vase. She was very stout, and wore a green silk dress with low neck and short sleeves, allowing her red neck, covered with powder, to escape as a huge flower might from its corolla.

      The officer saluted them, saying:

      “Good-day, ladies.”

      The older woman turned round, appeared surprised, but bowed.

      “Good-morning, sir.”

      He sat down. But seeing that they did not welcome him eagerly, he thought that possibly only commissioned officers were admitted to the house, and this made him uneasy. But he said:

      “Bah, if one comes in, we can soon tell.”

      He then remarked:

      “Are you all well?”

      The large lady, no doubt the mistress of the house, replied:

      “Very well, thank you!”

      He could think of nothing else to say, and they were all silent. But at last, being ashamed of his bashfulness, and with an awkward laugh, he said:

      “Do not people have any amusement in this country? I will pay for a bottle of wine.”

      He had not finished his sentence when the door opened, and in walked Padoie dressed in a black suit.

      Varajou gave a shout of joy, and rising from his seat, he rushed at his brother-in-law, put his arms round him and waltzed him round the room, shouting:

      “Here is Padoie! Here is Padoie! Here is Padoie!”

      Then letting go of the tax collector he exclaimed as he looked him in the face:

      “Oh, oh, oh, you scamp, you scamp! You are out for a good time, too. Oh, you scamp! And my sister! Are you tired of her, say?”

      As he thought of all that he might gain through this unexpected situation, the forced loan, the inevitable blackmail, he flung himself on the lounge and laughed so heartily that the piece of furniture creaked all over.

      The three young ladies, rising simultaneously, made their escape, while the older woman retreated to the door looking as though she were about to faint.

      And then two gentlemen appeared in evening dress, and wearing the ribbon of an order. Padoie rushed up to them.

      “Oh, judge—he is crazy, he is crazy. He was sent to us as a convalescent. You can see that he is crazy.”

      Varajou was sitting up now, and not being able to understand it all, he guessed that he had committed some monstrous folly. Then he rose, and turning to his brother-in-law, said:

      “What house is this?”

      But Padoie, becoming suddenly furious, stammered out:

      “What house—what—what house is this? Wretch—scoundrel—villain—what house, indeed? The house of the judge—of the judge of the Supreme Court—of the Supreme Court—of the Supreme Court—Oh, oh—rascal!—rascal!—rascal!”

      THE DIAMOND NECKLACE

      The girl was one of those pretty and charming young creatures who sometimes are born, as if by a slip of fate, into a family of clerks. She had no dowry, no expectations, no way of being known, understood, loved, married by any rich and distinguished man; so she let herself be married to a little clerk of the Ministry of Public Instruction.

      She dressed plainly because she could not dress well, but she was unhappy as if she had really fallen from a higher station; since with women there is neither caste nor rank, for beauty, grace and charm take the place of family and birth. Natural ingenuity, instinct for what is elegant, a supple mind are their sole hierarchy, and often make of women of the people the equals of the very greatest ladies.

      Mathilde suffered ceaselessly, feeling herself born to enjoy all delicacies and all luxuries. She was distressed at the poverty of her dwelling, at the bareness of the walls, at the shabby chairs, the ugliness of the curtains. All those things, of which another woman of her rank would never even have been conscious, tortured her and made her angry. The sight of the little Breton peasant who did her humble housework aroused in her despairing regrets and bewildering dreams. She thought of silent antechambers hung with Oriental tapestry, illumined by tall bronze candelabra, and of two great footmen in knee breeches who sleep in the big armchairs, made drowsy by the oppressive heat of the stove. She thought of long reception halls hung with ancient silk, of the dainty cabinets containing priceless curiosities and of the little coquettish perfumed reception rooms made for chatting at five o’clock with intimate friends, with men famous and sought after, whom all women envy and whose attention they all desire.

      When she sat down to dinner, before the round table covered with a tablecloth in use three days, opposite her husband, who uncovered the soup tureen and declared with a delighted air, “Ah, the good soup! I don’t know anything better than that,” she thought of dainty dinners, of shining silverware, of tapestry that peopled the walls with ancient personages and with strange birds flying in the midst of a fairy forest; and she thought of delicious dishes served on marvellous plates and of the whispered gallantries to which you listen with a sphinxlike smile while you are eating the pink meat of a trout or the wings of a quail.

      She had no gowns, no jewels, nothing. And she loved nothing but that. She felt made for that. She would have liked so much to please, to be envied, to be charming, to be sought after.

      She had a friend, a former schoolmate at the convent, who was rich, and whom she did not like to go to see any more because she felt so sad when she came home.

      But one evening her husband reached home with a triumphant air and holding a large envelope in his hand.

      “There,” said he, “there is something for you.”

      She tore the paper quickly and drew out a printed card which bore these words:

      The Minister of Public Instruction and Madame Georges Ramponneau request the honor of M. and Madame Loisel’s company at the palace of the Ministry on Monday evening, January 18th.

      Instead of being delighted, as her husband had hoped, she threw the invitation on the table crossly, muttering:

      “What do you wish me to do with that?”

      “Why, my dear, I thought you would be glad. You never go out, and this is such a fine opportunity. I had great trouble to get it. Every one wants to go; it is very select, and they are not giving many invitations to clerks. The whole official world will be there.”

      She looked at him with an irritated glance and said impatiently:

      “And what do you wish me to put on my back?”

      He had not thought of that. He stammered:

      “Why, the gown you go to the theatre in. It looks very well to me.”

      He stopped, distracted, seeing that his wife was weeping. Two great tears ran slowly from the corners of her eyes toward the corners of her mouth.

      “What’s the matter? What’s the matter?” he answered.

      By a violent effort she conquered her grief and replied in a calm voice, while she wiped her wet cheeks:

      “Nothing. Only I have no gown, and, therefore, I can’t go to this ball. Give your card to some colleague whose wife is better equipped than I am.”

      He was in despair. He resumed:

      “Come, let us see, Mathilde. How much would it cost, a suitable gown, which you could use on other occasions—something very simple?”

      She reflected several seconds, making her calculations and wondering also what sum she could ask without drawing on herself an immediate refusal and a frightened exclamation from the economical clerk.

      Finally she replied hesitating:

      “I don’t

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