his hair had had time to grow and the curls had matted
over his forehead with the cunning cruelty of the twists
of the crown of thorns ...

     The transformation began at the left wrist, which it
encircled with a bracelet of flowers, and continued along
the chain, from link to link, to the right wrist ...
I ... cut off the loveliest rose, which was hanging by a
supple stem near his left wrist. The head of the rose fell
on my bare foot and rolled on the pavestones among the
dirty curls of cut hair ... Noth’rs was deathly pale, and ...
as delicate as those of whom history tells us that they
fainted, overwhelmed by the smell and sight of a rose.