Note: Alexandre is cutting off his hair by recommendation of the only doctor who will give advice without asking for payment, after "the idea that hair should be cut off in severe illness as the growing of hair was thought to draw strength from you" (source). It's not something he'd otherwise do. He's rawther vain, much like Jeannot.
"Oh, Alexandre," Jeannot mourns, "your lovely hair..." He tangles his fingers in the fine golden strands, prematurely grieving their loss.
"Hair grows back," Alexandre answers mildly, handing him the shears.
The gilded locks fall, one after the other, until the floor shines yellow and Alexandre's head is bare as a wheat-field after the reapers have passed. Jeannot bites his lip and runs a finger over the uneven stubble until Alexandre sighs and reaches up to catch his hand and hold it tight.
"Don't be sad, enfant," he says. And he smiles. "I will need to borrow your hat-- that's all."
Everything Alexandre has, Jeannot shares equally. When they are fortunate, they eat well together; when they are not, they go hungry together, and the ache is lessened for being a shared one.
But this illness is a pain Jeannot cannot share -- cannot even imagine. When Alexandre gasps for air in the morning, Jeannot can only fetch water and stroke the remnants of his once-lovely hair until he can breathe again. When Jeannot wakes during the night to Alexandre's dry, harsh coughs, he can only hold his lover's shaking body close to him and try to be strong, for Alexandre's sake.