A/N: I did this for a school assignment; we had to write an alternate ending to the short story "The Necklace". I'm pretty sure that no one had the same idea that I did. Please note that I invented names for M. Loisel and Mm. Forestier. "Pierre", by the way, means "stone"; and "Victoire" means "victory". This does have some significance.

Cyanide and Burgundy

"…Before the mirror, she let the wraps fall from her shoulders to see herself once again in all her glory. Suddenly she gave a cry. The necklace was gone."

"What's wrong?" her husband asked, a tone of slight annoyance in his voice. "I'm trying to sleep, darling; can't this wait 'till tomorrow?"

"No!" Mathilde replied in horror. "I lost the necklace!"

"You lost it?" Pierre Loisel repeated in horror, turning to look at his wife. "But I'm sure you had it when we left!"

"I know!" Mathilde cried mournfully. "I did have it; I don't know what could have happened!"

"Well," her husband replied, "you'll just have to tell Mme. Forestier that you misplaced it. I'm sure she'll understand if she's as good of a friend as you claim she is."

"Yes," Mathilde agreed softly, "yes, I'm sure that she will."

Mathilde put off discussing the bauble with Mme. Forestier as long as she could, but soon it became unavoidable. The friends had planned long ago to go to the theatre together, and Forestier would surely ask where her necklace had gotten to. Mathilde thought briefly of telling her friend that the clasp on the jewel had broken and that it was being repaired, but decided finally that, since a few days had passed since the reception, the lie would not be believable. Telling the truth was the only thing that Mathilde could think of to do.

Two days later, the friends emerged from the theatre together. Mme. Forestier was still chattering wildly about the show that the pair had just seen; Mathilde was trying as hard as she could to keep her composure. Thankfully, Forestier was too preoccupied to notice how nervous Mathilde seemed. Finally, the friends sat down on a bench to talk.

"Mathilde," Mme. Forestier asked, "you remember borrowing my necklace, yes?"

"Yes, I do," Mathilde replied, "and I have something to tell you about that."

"You do?" Forestier asked, sounding pleasantly surprised. "Do you have the necklace here with you? I need it for a dinner party I'm attending tomorrow night."

"No," Mathilde replied, "I'm afraid that I don't have it with me. You see, dear, I…I lost it."

"No, tell me the truth," Forestier chuckled. "Do you need to borrow it for a few more days? I'll let you if you want-"

"No," Mathilde interjected, "I really lost it. I'm so sorry, dear." Mme. Forestier, for once in her life, was speechless.

Victoire Forestier truly did not know what to do. Mathilde always had seemed a bit muddle-headed; she was always fawning over expensive foods and dresses and had never seemed to care about much else. Now, Victoire was sure that Mathilde did not value their friendship as much as she did-or, rather, as much as she had. That necklace had cost her seventy-thousand francs, which really was an awful lot for a piece of jewelry. Besides that, it had been custom-made for Victoire by a jeweler friend, who had then left town after a fire had destroyed his shop. Needless to say, the necklace was irreplaceable. And Mathilde would never agree to buy Victoire a new one; in fact, Victoire decided that she wouldn't even ask. She wouldn't give Mathilde the satisfaction of knowing that she had upset her. No, Victoire would not ask. In fact, an even better, more sinister idea was already forming in her mind…

That went quite well, Mathilde thought to herself a few hours later over a dinner of mediocre stew. Yes, Victoire had been mad, but she had not insisted on Mathilde buying her a new necklace, which was really all that mattered. Mathilde felt terribly about losing her friend's trinket, yes, but not bad enough to pay for a new one. Besides, Victoire was already wealthy enough to buy herself a new necklace. She could probably buy herself a hundred new ones and not even have to worry about it! Mathilde had done her part; Victoire would just have to forgive her.

Victoire had never been to the more shady parts of Paris before. She walked quickly, looking at her feet as she walked and trying to avoid stepping in the vomit and garbage that littered the streets. Victoire knew that she was attracting stares; women in finery and jewels were rarely seen in that part of town, and never without a good reason. Finally, Victoire found the shop she was looking for. She ducked inside, being careful not to let her dress get caught in the door as she shut it behind her.

"What do you want?" the clerk standing behind the desk asked, appraising Victoire with a surprised look on his face.

"No one's listening, are they?" Victoire asked cautiously, stepping closer to the desk. "We're alone, aren't we?"

"Y-yes," the clerk stuttered, stunned at the close proximity between himself and Victoire. "We're alone…"

"Good," Victoire replied, drawing closer still. "I need cyanide…"

The next day, a letter came for Mathilde from Victoire. Scanning it quickly, Mathilde realized that it was an invitation to dinner for that night.

"She's not mad at me, after all!" Mathilde exclaimed to her husband, telling him about her sudden plans. "Not that she had any reason to be; after all, she did give me the necklace. It's her fault that I lost it, really."

"It was," Pierre replied distractedly, fingering something in his pocket. "Yes, of course, dear." Mathilde, satisfied with her husband's words, skipped off happily to find a dress for the party. Pierre hung back, pulling a box from his pocket. Everything had gone so well so far; if only he could find a place to hide the evidence…

That night, Mathilde made her way to Victoire's house. She knocked on the door and waited for a few moments, pulling her wraps tighter against her body to shield herself from the bitterly cold air. Finally, Victoire opened the door, wearing a crimson dress and a secretive smile.

"Hello, dear," Victoire said warmly, embracing Mathilde. "How are you?"

"Oh, just wonderful," Mathilde smiled, leaving her wraps carelessly strewn on a chair and following Victoire to the dining-room. "I really am terribly sorry about the necklace, you know; I don't know how I could have lost it!"

"Oh, it's quite all right," Victoire assured her. She smiled again, though this time it looked forced and didn't reach her eyes. Mathilde said nothing about this, choosing instead to sit down. Victoire went to the kitchen to get the bottle of wine she had prepared especially for her friend…

"Now, have some of this," Victoire insisted a few minutes later, pouring Mathilde a glass of the wine. "It's a Burgundy; I bought it just for you and it was terribly expensive." Mathilde, smiling at this, sipped a bit of the liquid. A moment later, she began choking violently.

"Oh, no," Victoire chuckled maliciously as her friend's lips turned a light, sickly shade of purple. "Are you choking, darling? I would help you, but I need to keep this dress clean, you know; now don't look at me like that, Mathilde; this is all your fault, anyway…" Mathilde's choking was then drowned out by Victoire's cruel laughter.

"Cyanide does work awfully quickly," Victoire muttered to herself a few minutes later, moving the body from the table. "The clerk wasn't lying to me after all; I was worried that he was…" Victoire cleaned up the glass that had shattered when Mathilde had dropped it, poured out the bottle of poisoned wine, and closed Mathilde's eyes before going to find the police to report a murder.

The funeral was held three days later. Only a few people attended, mostly family of Mathilde, though Victoire was there, too. Looking down at her appropriately black mourning dress, she thought dolefully that it really didn't look as god as it could have with the necklace.

Pierre Loisel was standing behind Victoire, trying not to make himself conspicuous. He just wanted a moment alone with the body, so when it was his turn to approach the coffin, he raised the lid the tiniest bit and let his hand snake inside.

"It's really too bad, Mathilde," he whispered, his voice sounding strange, even to himself. "You brought this upon yourself, you know; if you hadn't borrowed that necklace, I never would have had to steal it… You really should have learned to control your drinking, darling; it was just too easy to get the necklace away from you while you were jabbering on about that foolish reception. But I do need the money, you know; I've found a jeweler who will take the necklace for sixty-thousand francs, no questions asked. I really am sorry, dear." And Pierre walked away, smiling slightly and trying not to make eye contact with anyone. Later that day, he made his way to the jeweler's and sold the necklace. He really did feel bad about everything, but only a little bit. After all, he was the real winner in this all. Victoire was still delirious from the aftermath of the murder, and Mathilde, who had never loved him in the first place, was six feet underground, unable to say anything to anyone. And Pierre, grinning to himself, took the francs from the jeweler and walked home, humming a score from Orpheus and Eurydice under his breath.

(the end)