"He did borrow it, getting a thousand from one man, five hundred from another, five louis here, three louis there.
He gave notes of hand, entered into ruinous agreements, did business with usurers and the whole tribe of moneylenders. He mortgaged the whole remaining years of his existence, risked his signature without even knowing if he
could honour it, and, appalled at the agonising face of the future, at the black misery about to fall upon him, at the
prospect of every possible physical privation and moral torture, he went to get the new necklace and put down upon
the jeweller's counter thirty-six thousand francs.
When Madame Loisel took back the necklace to Madame Forestier, the latter said to her in a chilly voice:
"You ought to have brought it back sooner; I might have needed it."
She did not, as her friend had feared, open the case. If she had noticed the substitution, what would she have
thought? What would she have said? Would she not have taken her for a thief?
Madame Loisel came to know the ghastly life of abject poverty. From the very first she played her part heroically. This
fearful debt must be paid off. She would pay it. The servant was dismissed. They changed their flat; they took a
garret under the roof.
She came to know the heavy work of the house, the hateful duties of the kitchen. She washed the plates, wearing
out her pink nails on the coarse pottery and the bottoms of pans. She washed the dirty linen, the shirts and dishcloths, and hung them out to dry on a string; every morning she took the dustbin down into the street and carried up
the water, stopping on each landing to get her breath. And, clad like a poor woman, she went to the fruiterer, to the
grocer, to the butcher, a basket on her arm, haggling, insulted, fighting for every wretched halfpenny of her money.