"I can bear it better alone." The good fellow nodded and began to walk up and down.
As Vjera entered the shop, the chief barber in command waltzed forward, as hairdressers always seem to waltz.

At the sight of the poor girl, however, he assumed a stern appearance which, to tell the truth, was out of character with his style of beauty.

His rich brown locks were curled and anointed in a way that might have aroused envy in the heart of an Assyrian dandy in the palmy days of Sardanapalus.
"Do you buy hair ?" asked Vjera, timidly offering her limp parcel.
"Oh, certainly, sometimes," answered the barber.

The youth in attendance--the barber tadpole of the hairdresser frog--abandoned the cleansing of a comb and came forward with a leer, in the hope that Vjera might turn out to be pretty on a closer inspection.

In this he was disappointed.
The man took the parcel and laid it on one of the narrow marble tables placed before a mirror in a richly gilt frame.