"What is wrong?" asked her significant other, currently half stripped down.
She turned towards him, terrified.
"I have ... I have ... I never again have Madame Forestier's accessory."
He stood up, distressed.
"What! ... how! ... That is unimaginable!"
They searched in the folds of her dress, in the folds of her shroud, in her pockets, all over. Be that as it may, they couldn't track down it.
"Are you certain you actually had it on when you left the ball?" he inquired.
"Indeed. I contacted it in the lobby at the Ministry."
"However, assuming you had lost it in the road we would have heard it fall. It should be in the taxi."
"Indeed. That is likely it. Did you take his number?"
"No. Also, you, didn't you see it?"
"No."
They gazed at one another, paralyzed. Finally Loisel put his garments on once more.
"I'm returning," he said, "over the entire course we strolled, check whether I can track down it."
He left. She stayed in her ball dress the entire night, without the solidarity to hit the sack, sitting on a seat, with no fire, her psyche clear.
Her better half returned at around seven o'clock. He had don't tracked down anything.
He went to the police, to the papers to offer a prize, to the taxi organizations, wherever the smallest hint of something better over the horizon drove him.
She stood by the entire day, in a similar condition of clear hopelessness from before this horrendous debacle.
Loisel returned at night, an empty, pale figure; he had don't tracked down anything.
"You should keep in touch with your companion," he said, "tell her you have broken the fasten of her jewelry and that you are having it retouched. It will give us an opportunity to look some more."