"That is true, Sir Mayor," replied Maria, turning as red as a
carnation, "but, look you, it is not my fault if I have a wealth of
tresses, the combing and plaiting of which necessitate so long a time
every morning."

"I tell thee it is thy fault," retorted the mayor, "for if thou didst
cut off this mane, thou wouldst save thyself all this combing and
plaiting, and thus wouldst have more time for work, and so gain more
money, and wouldst also give no occasion to people to call thee vain.
They even say that the devil will some day carry thee off by thy hair.
Nay, do not be distressed, for I already perceive the tears gathering
in thine eyes, for thou hast them indeed very ready at hand; I
admonish thee for thine own good without any self-interest. Cut thy
hair off, shear thyself, shave thyself, good Maria, and to allay the
bitterness of the shearing, I will give fifty _maravedis_, always on
condition that thou dost hand me over the hair."

When Maria at first heard this offer of so reasonable a sum for this
her hair, it seemed to her a jest of the mayor's, and she smiled right
sweetly while she dried her tears, repeating:

"You will give me fifty _maravedis_ if I shave myself?"

Now it appeared to the mayor (who, it is said, was not gifted with all
the prudence of Ulysses) that the smile signified that the maid was
not satisfied with so small a price, and he added:

"If thou wilt not be content with fifty _maravedis_, I will give thee
a hundred."