“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.”
Again I was seized with that strange intoxication.
“Whip me,” I begged, “whip me without mercy.”
Wanda swung the whip, and hit me twice. “Are you satisfied now?”
“No.”
“Seriously, no?”
“Whip me, I beg you, it is a joy to me.”
“Yes, because you know very well that it isn’t serious,” she replied,
“because I haven’t the heart to hurt you. This brutal game goes against
my grain. Were I really the woman who beats her slaves you would be
horrified.”
“No, Wanda,” I replied, “I love you more than myself; I am devoted to
you for death and life. In all seriousness, you can do with me whatever
you will, whatever your caprice suggests.”
“Severin!”
“Tread me underfoot!” I exclaimed, and flung myself face to the floor
before her.
“I hate all this play-acting,” said Wanda impatiently.
“Well, then maltreat me seriously.”
An uncanny pause.
“Severin, I warn you for the last time,” began Wanda.
“If you love me, be cruel towards me,” I pleaded with upraised eyes.
“If I love you,” repeated Wanda. “Very well!” She stepped back and
looked at me with a sombre smile. _“Be then my slave, and know what it
means to be delivered into the hands of a woman.”_ And at the same
moment she gave me a kick.
“How do you like that, slave?”
Then she flourished the whip.
“Get up!”