The beautiful visitor gave a cry of dismay and clapped the hand to her face.
“I thought it would make you sick,” said the nurse quietly. “I guess you had better go to the window.”
Madame stood with her lace handkerchief pressed to her lips and gazed upon the ice and snow without.
Presently she said:—
“Mr. Prince desires the hair of his wife. Will you kindly cut off the plaits close to the head.”
“It does seem a pity,” observed the nurse, snipping at the plaits stolidly, “to take the only thing from her she seemed to care much about. I guess they can bury my hair with me.”
“She is not to be buried,” replied madame softly, still gazing upon the whiteness without. “It would be a pity to burn such splendid hair, would it not?”
“Oh!” said the nurse, “I see. Going to send her to the new crematory?”
“Are you a New Englander?” gently inquired the lady, turning her dark blue eyes upon the inquisitive attendant.
“I guess I am. Why?”