Without making any reply, the executioner began to cut the long gray hairs of the prisoner very close, especially at the nape of the neck.
"This makes the third time in my life," continued the widow, with a dismal smile, "that I have had my head dressed by a professor: when I took my first communion the white veil was arranged; then on my marriage, when the orange-flowers were placed there; and upon the present occasion; upon my word, I hardly know which became me most. You cannot guess what I am thinking of?" resumed the widow, addressing the executioner, after having again contemplated her daughter.
But the man made her no sort of answer, and no sound was heard but that of the scissors, and the sort of convulsive and hysterical sob that occasionally escaped from Calabash.
At this moment a venerable priest approached the governor, and addressed him in a low, earnest voice, the import of which was to express his desire to make another effort to rescue the souls of the condemned.
"I was thinking that at five years old my daughter, whose head you are going to cut off, was the prettiest child I ever saw, with her fair hair and red cheeks. Who that saw her then would have said that—" She was silent for a moment, and then said, with a burst of indescribable laughter, "What a farce is destiny!"
At this moment the last of her hair was cut off.
"I have done, madame," said the executioner, politely.
"Many thanks; and I recommend my son Nicholas to you," said the widow; "you will cut off his hair some day." A turnkey came in and said a few words to her in a low tone. "No,—I have already said no!" she answered, angrily.
The priest hearing these words, and seeing any further interference useless, immediately withdrew.
"Madame, we are all ready to go. Will you take anything?" inquired the executioner, civilly.