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He left. She remained in her ball dress all evening, without the strength to go to bed,
sitting on a chair, with no fire, her mind blank.
Her husband returned at about seven o’clock. He had found nothing.
He went to the police, to the newspapers to offer a reward, to the cab companies,
everywhere the tiniest glimmer of hope led him.
She waited all day, in the same state of blank despair from before this frightful disaster.
Loisel returned in the evening, a hollow, pale figure; he had found nothing.
“You must write to your friend,” he said, “tell her you have broken the clasp of her
necklace and that you are having it mended. It will give us time to look some more.”
She wrote as he dictated.
At the end of one week they had lost all hope.
And Loisel, who had aged five years, declared:
“We must consider how to replace the jewel.”
The next day they took the box which had held it, and went to the jeweler whose name
they found inside. He consulted his books.
“It was not I, madame, who sold the necklace; I must simply have supplied the case.”
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