The tadpole youth grinned idiotically and the barber seemed anxious to end the interview.
With a look of broken-hearted despair the girl turned to the table and began to do up her parcel again.

Her shawl fell to the ground as she moved.

Then the tadpole nudged his employer and pointed at Vjera's long, red-brown braid, and grinned again from ear to ear.
"Is it fifteen marks that you want ?" asked the man.
"Fifteen--yes--I must have fifteen," repeated Vjera in dull tones.
"I will give it to you for your own hair," said the barber with a short laugh.
"For my own ?" cried Vjera, suddenly turning round.

It had never occurred to her that her own tress could be worth anything.

"For my own ?" she repeated as though not believing her ears.
"Yes--let me see," said the man.