After this there is always something evil to one's head, and mine, alas! was shaved.
Half an hour after I had read the letter, the little paper-flower makers in the attic window across from mine may have seen me shaving it--without pleasure--again.

What else was I to do?
I could not well expect to be given the guardianship of an erring young man if I presented myself to his parent as a gentleman who had been sitting at the Cafe' de la Paix with his head painted.

I could not wear my hat through the interview.

I could not exhibit the thick five days' stubble, to appear in contrast with the heavy fringe that had been spared;--I could not trim the fringe to the shortness of the stubble; I should have looked like Pierrot.

I had only, then, to remain bald, and, if I obtained the post, to shave in secret--a harmless and mournful imposition.
It was well for me that I came to this determination.