She sat there for a while, making every effort to overcome her faintness, but she felt so sick, so giddy, and in such pain, that her head sank down on the table of its own weight, and she burst out crying from sheer exhaustion.
When she had somewhat recovered, she slowly undid her long tresses, and her luxuriant hair fell in waves down to the ground. She shook her head slightly, as if to disentangle the wavy mass, plunged her fingers through the locks to separate them, and felt them lovingly, uttering a deep sigh of regret as she did so; then after a moment's pause, she shrugged her shoulders, took up a pair of scissors, and, without more ado, she clipped the long tresses as close to her head as she possibly could, carefully placing each one on the table as she cut it off. Then she felt her head, which seemed so small, so cold, and so naked; she took up a mirror with a trembling hand and quivering lips pulled down at each corner. After she had seen her own reflection in the glass, she burst into tears. She had hardly put down the mirror, when Frana, the midwife's daughter, came in.
The young girl, seeing Milena, whom she had expected to find in bed, sitting on the chair with all her hair clipped off, remained rooted to the spot where she was standing.
"Milena, dear, is it you?"
"Yes," replied Milena, mournfully.
"But why did you get up? and why have you cut off your beautiful hair?" asked the midwife's daughter, scared.
"My hair burdened my head; I could not bear the weight any more; besides——"
The young girl looked at Milena, wondering whether she were in her right senses, or if the grief of having lost her husband and her child had not driven her to distraction.
"Besides what, Milena?"
"Well, I am not for long in this world, you know!"