A man might have felt the
same in those days when long locks were the distinctive outward sign of
nobility in man, and perhaps the respect of that obsolete custom has left
in the minds of most people a sort of unconscious tradition. However that
may be, we all feel that in one direction, at least, a woman's sacrifice
can go no further than in giving her head to the shears.
The longer the Count thought of this, the more his gratitude increased,
and the more fully he realised at what great cost poor Vjera had saved him
from what he considered the greatest conceivable dishonour, from the shame
of breaking his word, no matter under what conditions it had been given.
He could, of course, repay her the money, so soon as his friends arrived,
but by no miracle whatever could he restore to her head the only beauty it
had ever possessed. He had scarcely understood this at first, for he had
been confused and shaken by the many emotions which had in succession
played upon his nervous mind and body during the past twenty-four hours.
But now he saw it all very clearly. He had taken only money, which he
would be able to restore; she had given a part of herself, irrevocably.
So deeply absorbed was he in his thoughts that the clocks struck many
successive quarters without rousing him from his reverie, or suggesting
again to him the fixed idea by which his life was governed on that day of
the week. But as midnight drew near, the prolonged striking of the bells
at every quarter at last attracted his attention.
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