She loved him, though she knew he was mad, and she let her head fall upon his shoulder, and allowed herself to believe in love for a moment.
Suddenly she felt that he was startled by something.
"Vjera!" he cried.

"Have you cut off your beautiful hair?
What have you done, child?
How could you do it ?" "It was so heavy," she said, looking up with a bright smile.

"It made my head ache--it is best so." But he was not satisfied, for he guessed something of the truth, and the pain and horror that thrilled him told him that he had guessed rightly.
"You have cut it off--and you have sold it--you have sold your hair for me--" he stammered in a broken voice.
She hung her head a little.
"I always meant to cut it off.

I did not care for it, you know.

And besides," she added, suddenly looking up again, "you will not love me less, will you?
They said it would grow again--you will not love me less ?" "Love you less?
Ah, Vjera, that promise I may make at least--never--to the end of ends!" "And yet," she answered, "if it should all be true--if it only should--you could not--oh, I should not be worthy of you--you could never marry me." The Count drew back a step and held out his right hand, with a strangely earnest look in his weary eyes.