"I mean it to hurt you," she said with a mocking laugh, and went on
thrashing him without mercy. At last the poor fool groaned with pain,
but he consoled himself with the thought that each blow brought him
nearer to his happiness.

At the twenty-fourth cut, she threw the whip down.

"That only makes twenty-four," the beaten would-be, _Don Juan_,
remarked.

"I will make you a present of the twenty-fifth," she said with a laugh.

"And now you are mine, altogether mine," he exclaimed ardently.

"What are you thinking of?"

"Have I not let you beat me?"

"Certainly; but I promised you to grant your wish after the twenty-fifth
blow, and you have only received twenty-four," the cruel little bit of
virtue cried, "and I have witnesses to prove it."

With these words, she drew back the curtains over the door, and her
husband, followed by two other gentlemen came out of the next room,
smiling. For a moment the stockbroker remained speechless on his knees
before the beautiful woman; then he gave a deep sigh, and sadly uttered
that one, most significant word:

_"Crash!"_