swollen. And yet Laurier fancied, as he looked
at her, that, in spite of the disadvantageous
circumstances, there was a beauty in the childlike
face which he had not seen there before. "Come
in, mam'sell," said he, holding a light and leading
the way into the parlour, "but I wish there
was a bit of fire for you. It's mortal cold in
here."

"I don't mind it," said Kätchen, as she
entered the room and shut the door behind her.
And then she stood opposite the courier, looking
at him with a wistful timid face.

Laurier, who was a good-natured fellow,
tried to help her to disclose the business on,
which she had come, but she seemed unable to
speak to him. Her lips moved and trembled
but no sound came forth. "I see how it is,"
said he, "you're just petrified with the cold.
Let me go and fetch you a bowl of hot coffee."

"No, no; pray don't!" she cried, with an
effort at self-command. "I don't want anyone
to know I am here, and I am not cold. I—I
will speak, indeed, in a moment." She put one
hand on the lock of the door to stay him from
opening it, and then, with her head partly
turned away, said, tremulously, "Do you
remember that night you were at our house,
Herr Laurier, when father made me show you
the length of my hair?"

"Remember it? To be sure I do! And
how angry the Herr Landlord was when I
talked of having it cut off for a wig! Ha, ha!"

"You said, that night," pursued Kätchen,
with deepening colour and a nervous twitching
of the hand which still rested on the handle of
the door—"you said that you knew some one
—that there was a friend of yours in Paris who
—I mean you thought that he would—that he
might, perhaps—buy it!"

The last words were brought out with a jerk,
and her colour deepened and deepened, until
her whole face was burning red.

"Buy it! Buy what, mam'sell? You don't
mean——"

"Yes; I do. My hair. I mean to sell it if I
can," said Kätchen, whose firmness seemed to
return, now that the first plunge was over. "I
should be so grateful to you, if you would try
for me. I know I am asking a great, great
favour; but I have no other way. And—and—I
can't explain it, Herr Laurier, but when I
thought of the way you spoke of your own
daughter at home, somehow, that gave me courage
to come and beg you to help me in this
thing."

"My child," said Laurier, kindly, taking her
hand, "you're right in thinking that I am willing
to help you; but, as I am a father myself,
you know, I must say that I shouldn't like my
lass to shear off all her pretty locks for the sake
of gaining money by 'em."

"It is not only for the sake of the money,
indeed," cried the girl, eagerly.

"You'd best think of it well beforehand, at
all events, Mam'sell Kätchen. Do nothing
rashly."

"Ah, it is too late to warn me. I was afraid
you might advise me not to do it, so—look."

She drew a bundle from under her cloak, and in
so doing displaced the hood, which fell back,
disclosing a little round flaxen head cropped quite
closely, and evidently by inexpert fingers. There
was something at once ludicrous and touching
in her aspect, as she stood there looking so
baby-like and simple, and yet with a womanly
light shining out of her blue eyes. Laurier gave
a long whistle, and stood silent for a minute or
two, staring at her.

"Well," said he, at last, "it's done, I see;
and there's no use in crying over spilt milk.
But I think it's a great pity. And now how
much do you expect to get for all this?" As
he spoke, he took up the rich coils of plaited
hair which Kätchen had produced from beneath
her cloak, and weighed them thoughtfully in
his hand.

"Ah, that's just what I don't know, Herr
Laurier. I want to get as much as ever I can."

"I suppose so," said the courier, dryly. It
was evident that Kätchen's eagerness about the
money revolted him a little.

"How much do you think, Herr Laurier, I
shall get?" pursued Kätchen, unheedful of his
altered manner.

"Well, I can really hardly tell, to a kreuzer,"
returned Laurier. "I'm sorry if anything I said
has induced you to do this, for I fear I may
have raised false hopes, and you may happen to
be disappointed."

Kätchen's face fell. " Could you guess
anywhere near the sum, please, Herr Laurier?"
said she, with a trembling lip.

"Well, perhaps—mind, I can't be answerable
to a fraction—I say perhaps, if I got my friend
in Paris to buy it, he might go as high as a hundred
and fifty or two hundred francs. That's
a fancy price for the raw material; but then the
hair is something out of the common."

"Oh, thank you, thank you. Two hundred
francs is a great deal of money, isn't it?"

"It all depends, mam'sell. It's a good deal
to some people, and very little to others. But
it's a great pity, as I said before, that you should
have been in such a hurry, for I shan't have an
opportunity of seeing my friend at Paris before
next spring at soonest; and you might have kept
your pretty yellow locks on your head all the
time between this and then."

"Herr Laurier," said Kätchen, after an
instant's hesitation, "I thought of that too. I
hope you won't have a bad opinion of me for
what I'm going to ask. You wouldn't, I believe,
if you knew all. Can you—will you let me have
the money? I don't care if you give me a little
less than you think the hair may be worth, only
pray do let me have the money now at once!
I cut off my hair before I came," she added,
naïvely, "because I fancied, if you saw it was
done and couldn't be undone, you might be more
likely to consent to buy it."

Laurier was completely puzzled. There was
a single-minded, simple earnestness in the girl's
manner, which seemed incompatible with mere
selfish greed of gain. As he looked attentively
in her face, a light seemed all at once to dawn on
him which made him instantly soften his manner.