She left the ball about four o'clock in the morning. Her husband had been sleeping since midnight in a little deserted anteroom with three other gentlemen whose wives were enjoying the ball. He threw over her shoulders the wraps he had brought, the modest wraps of common life, the poverty of which contrasted with the elegance of the ball dress. She felt this and wished to escape so as not to be remarked by the other women, who were enveloping themselves in costly furs. Loisel held her back, saying: “Wait a bit. You will catch cold outside. I will call a cab.” But she did not listen to him and rapidly descended the stairs. When they reached the street they could not find a carriage and began to look for one, shouting after the cabmen passing at a distance. They went toward the Seine in despair, shivering with cold. At last they found on the quay one of those ancient night cabs which, as though they were ashamed to show their shabbiness during the day, are never seen round Paris until after dark. It took them to their dwelling in the Rue des Martyrs, and sadly they mounted the stairs to their flat. All was ended for her. As to him, he reflected that he must be at the ministry at ten o'clock that morning. She removed her wraps before the glass so as to see herself once more in all her glory. But suddenly she uttered a cry. She no longer had the necklace around her neck! “What is the matter with you?” demanded her husband, already half undressed. She turned distractedly toward him. “I have--I have--I've lost Madame Forestier's necklace,” she cried. He stood up, bewildered. “What!--how? Impossible!” They looked among the folds of her skirt, of her cloak, in her pockets, everywhere, but did not find it. “You're sure you had it on when you left the ball?” he asked. “Yes, I felt it in the vestibule of the minister's house.” “But if you had lost it in the street we should have heard it fall. It must be in the cab.” “Yes, probably. Did you take his number?” “No. And you--didn't you notice it?” “No.” They looked, thunderstruck, at each other. At last Loisel put on his clothes. “I shall go back on foot,” said he, “over the whole route, to see whether I can find it.” He went out. She sat waiting on a chair in her ball dress, without strength to go to bed, overwhelmed, without any fire, without a thought. Her husband returned about seven o'clock. He had found nothing. He went to police headquarters, to the newspaper offices to offer a reward; he went to the cab companies--everywhere, in fact, whither he was urged by the least spark of hope. She waited all day, in the same condition of mad fear before this terrible calamity. Loisel returned at night with a hollow, pale face. He had discovered nothing. “You must write to your friend,” said he, “that you have broken the clasp of her necklace and that you are having it mended. That will give us time to turn round.” She wrote at his dictation.