"Oh, how beautiful you are."

"Do I please you?" She stepped before the mirror, and looked at
herself with proud satisfaction.

"I shall become mad!"

Her lower lip twitched derisively, and she looked at me mockingly
from behind half-closed lids.

"Give me the whip."

I looked about the room.

"No," she exclaimed, "stay as you are, kneeling." She went over to
the fire-place, took the whip from the mantle-piece, and, watching
me with a smile, let it hiss through the air; then she slowly rolled
up the sleeve of her fur-jacket.

"Marvellous woman!" I exclaimed.

"Silence, slave!" She suddenly scowled, looked savage, and struck me
with the whip. A moment later she threw her arm tenderly about me,
and pityingly bent down to me. "Did I hurt you?" she asked, half-
shyly, half-timidly.

"No," I replied, "and even if you had, pains that come through you
are a joy. Strike again, if it gives you pleasure."

"But it doesn't give me pleasure."