By Guy Do Maupassant
The girl was one of those pretty and charming youngcreatures who sometimes are born， as if by a slip of fate， intoa family of clerks. She had no dowry， no expectations， no wayof being known， understood， loved， married by any rich anddistinguished man； so she let herself be married to a little clerkof the Ministry of Public Instruction.
She dressed plainly because she could not dress well， but shewas 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. Naturalingenuity， instinct for what is elegant， a supple mind are theirsole hierarchy， and often make of women of the people theequals of the very greatest ladies.
Mathilde suffered ceaselessly， feeling herself born to enjoyall delicacies and all luxuries. She was distressed at thepoverty of her dwelling， at the bareness of the walls， at theshabby chairs， the ugliness of the curtains. All those things， ofwhich another woman of her rank would never even have beenconscious， tortured her and made her angry. The sight of thelittle Breton peasant who did her humble housework arousedin her despairing regrets and bewildering dreams. She thoughtof silent antechambers hung with Oriental tapestry， illuminedby tall bronze candelabra， and of two great footmen in kneebreeches who sleep in the big armchairs， made drowsy by theoppressive heat of the stove. She thought of long receptionhalls hung with ancient silk， of the dainty cabinets containingpriceless curiosities and of the little coquettish perfumedreception rooms made for chatting at five o’clock with intimatefriends， with men famous and sought after， whom all womenenvy and whose attention they all desire.
When she sat down to dinner， before the round table coveredwith a tablecloth in use three days， opposite her husband，who uncovered the soup tureen and declared with a delightedair， “Ah， the good soup！ I don’t know anything better thanthat，” she thought of dainty dinners， of shining silverware， oftapestry that peopled the walls with ancient personages andwith strange birds flying in the midst of a fairy forest； and shethought of delicious dishes served on marvellous plates and ofthe whispered gallantries to which you listen with a sphinxlikesmile while you are eating the pink meat of a trout or thewings of a quail.
She had no gowns， no jewels， nothing. And she lovednothing but that. She felt made for that. She would have likedso much to please， to be envied， to be charming， to be soughtafter.
She had a friend， a former schoolmate at the convent， whowas rich， and whom she did not like to go to see any morebecause she felt so sad when she came home.
But one evening her husband reached home with a triumphantair 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 whichbore these words：
The Minister of Public Instruction and Madame GeorgesRamponneau request the honor of M. and Madame Loisel’scompany at the palace of the Ministry on Monday evening，January 18th.
Instead of being delighted， as her husband had hoped， shethrew 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 goout， and this is such a fine opportunity. I had great trouble toget it. Every one wants to go； it is very select， and they are notgiving many invitations to clerks. The whole official worldwill 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 wellto me.”
He stopped， distracted， seeing that his wife was weeping.
Two great tears ran slowly from the corners of her eyes towardthe 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 acalm voice， while she wiped her wet cheeks：
“Nothing. Only I have no gown， and， therefore， I can’t goto this ball. Give your card to some colleague whose wife isbetter equipped than I am.”
He was in despair. He resumed：
“Come， let us see， Mathilde. How much would it cost， a suitablegown， which you could use on other occasions—somethingvery simple？”
She reflected several seconds， making her calculations andwondering also what sum she could ask without drawing onherself an immediate refusal and a frightened exclamationfrom the economical clerk.
Finally she replied hesitating：
“I don’t know exactly， but I think I could manage it withfour hundred francs.”
He grew a little pale， because he was laying aside just thatamount to buy a gun and treat himself to a little shooting nextsummer on the plain of Nanterre， with several friends whowent to shoot larks there of a Sunday.
But he said：
“Very well. I will give you four hundred francs. And try tohave a pretty gown.”
The day of the ball drew near and Madame Loisel seemedsad， uneasy， anxious. Her frock was ready， however. Herhusband said to her one evening：
“What is the matter？ Come， you have seemed very queerthese last three days.”
And she answered：
“It annoys me not to have a single piece of jewelry， nota single ornament， nothing to put on. I shall look povertystricken.
I would almost rather not go at all.”
“You might wear natural flowers，” said her husband.
“They’re very stylish at this time of year. For ten francs youcan get two or three magnificent roses.”
She was not convinced.
“No； there’s nothing more humiliating than to look pooramong other women who are rich.”
“How stupid you are！” her husband cried. “Go look upyour friend， Madame Forestier， and ask her to lend you somejewels. You’re intimate enough with her to do that.”
She uttered a cry of joy：
“True！ I never thought of it.”
The next day she went to her friend and told her of herdistress.
