“We must have those ringlets of thine cut, good fellow,” said the Duke of Cleves good-naturedly, but wishing to spare the feelings of his gallant recruit. “’Tis against the regulation cut of my archer guard.”

“Cut off my hair!” cried Otto, agonized.

“Ay, and thine ears with it, yokel,” roared Donnerblitz.

“Peace, noble Eulenschreckenstein,” said the Duke with dignity:  “let the Duke of Cleves deal as he will with his own men-at-arms.  And you, young sir, unloose the grip of thy dagger.”

Otto, indeed, had convulsively grasped his snickersnee, with intent to plunge it into the heart of the Rowski; but his politer feelings overcame him.  “The count need not fear, my lord,” said he:  “a lady is present.”  And he took off his orange-tawny cap and bowed low.  Ah! what a pang shot through the heart of Helen, as she thought that those lovely ringlets must be shorn from that beautiful head!

Otto’s mind was, too, in commotion.  His feelings as a gentleman—­let us add, his pride as a man—­for who is not, let us ask, proud of a good head of hair?—­waged war within his soul.  He expostulated with the Prince.  “It was never in my contemplation,” he said, “on taking service, to undergo the operation of hair-cutting.”

“Thou art free to go or stay, Sir Archer,” said the Prince pettishly.  “I will have no churls imitating noblemen in my service:  I will bandy no conditions with archers of my guard.”

“My resolve is taken,” said Otto, irritated too in his turn.  “I will . . . . "

“What?” cried Helen, breathless with intense agitation.

“I will stay,” answered Otto.  The poor girl almost fainted with joy.  The Rowski frowned with demoniac fury, and grinding his teeth and cursing in the horrible German jargon, stalked away.  “So be it,” said the Prince of Cleves, taking his daughter’s arm—­“and here comes Snipwitz, my barber, who shall do the business for you.”  With this the Prince too moved on, feeling in his heart not a little compassion for the lad; for Adolf of Cleves had been handsome in his youth, and distinguished for the ornament of which he was now depriving his archer.

Snipwitz led the poor lad into a side-room, and there—­in a word—­operated upon him.  The golden curls—­fair curls that his mother had so often played with!—­fell under the shears and round the lad’s knees, until he looked as if he was sitting in a bath of sunbeams.

When the frightful act had been performed, Otto, who entered the little chamber in the tower ringleted like Apollo, issued from it as cropped as a charity-boy.

See how melancholy he looks, now that the operation is over!—­And no wonder.  He was thinking what would be Helen’s opinion of him, now that one of his chief personal ornaments was gone.  “Will she know me?” thought he; “will she love me after this hideous mutilation?”