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Chapter 456
XII The days passed by. Zinaïda became stranger and stranger, and more and more incomprehensible. One day I went over to her, and saw her sitting in a basket-chair, her head pressed to the sharp edge of the table. She drew herself up … her whole face was wet with tears. ‘Ah, you!’ she said with a cruel smile. ‘Come here.’ I went up to her. She put her hand on my head, and suddenly catching hold of my hair, began pulling it. ‘It hurts me,’ I said at last. ‘Ah! does it? And do you suppose nothing hurts me?’ she replied. ‘Ai!’ she cried suddenly, seeing she had pulled a little tuft of hair out. ‘What have I done? Poor M’sieu Voldemar!’ She carefully smoothed the hair she had torn out, stroked it round her finger, and twisted it into a ring. ‘I shall put your hair in a locket and wear
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