“You are now no longer cruel, but cheap,” I said, clearly and
distinctly, accentuating every word.
“You have already written that in your letter,” Wanda replied, with a
proud shrug of the shoulders. “A man of brains should never repeat
himself.”
“The way you are treating me,” I broke out, “what would you call it?”
“I might punish you,” she replied ironically, “but I prefer this time
to reply with reasons instead of lashes. You have no right to accuse
me. Haven’t I always been honest with you? Haven’t I warned you more
than once? Didn’t I love you with all my heart, even passionately, and
did I conceal the fact from you, that it was dangerous to give yourself
into my power, to abase yourself before me, and that I want to be
dominated? But you wished to be my plaything, my slave! You found the
highest pleasure in feeling the foot, the whip of an arrogant, cruel
woman. What do you want now?
“Dangerous potentialities were slumbering in me, but you were the first
to awaken them. If I now take pleasure in torturing you, abusing you,
it is your fault; you have made of me what I now am, and now you are
even unmanly, weak, and miserable enough to accuse me.”
“Yes, I am guilty,” I said, “but haven’t I suffered because of it? Let
us put an end now to the cruel game.”
“That is my wish, too,” she replied with a curious deceitful look.
“Wanda!” I exclaimed violently, “don’t drive me to extremes; you see
that I am a man again.”
“A fire of straw,” she replied, “which makes a lot of stir for a
moment, and goes out as quickly as it flared up. You imagine you can
intimidate me, and you only make yourself ridiculous. Had you been the
man I first thought you were, serious, reserved, stern, I would have
loved you faithfully, and become your wife. Woman demands that she can
look up to a man, but one like you who voluntarily places his neck
under her foot, she uses as a welcome plaything, only to toss it aside
when she is tired of it.”
“Try to toss me aside,” I said, jeeringly. “Some toys are dangerous.”
“Don’t challenge me,” exclaimed Wanda. Her eyes began to flash, and a
flush entered her cheeks.
“If you won’t be mine now,” I continued, with a voice stifled with
rage, “no one else shall possess you either.”
“What play is this from?” she mocked, seizing me by the breast. She was
pale with anger at this moment. “Don’t challenge me,” she continued, “I
am not cruel, but I don’t know whether I may not become so and whether
then there will be any bounds.”
“What worse can you do, than to make your lover, your husband?” I
exclaimed, more and more enraged.
“I might make you _his_ slave,” she replied quickly, “are you not in my
power? Haven’t I the agreement? But, of course, you will merely take
pleasure in it, if I have you bound, and say to him.
“Do with him what you please.”
“Woman, are you mad!” I cried.
“I am entirely rational,” she said, calmly. “I warn you for the last
time. Don’t offer any resistance, one who has gone as far as I have
gone might easily go still further. I feel a sort of hatred for you,
and would find a real joy in seeing him beat you to death; I am still
restraining myself, but—”
Scarcely master of myself any longer, I seized her by the wrist and
forced her to the ground, so that she lay on her knees before me.
“Severin!” she cried. Rage and terror were painted on her face.
“I shall kill you if you marry him,” I threatened; the words came
hoarsely and dully from my breast. “You are mine, I won’t let you go, I
love you too much.” Then I clutched her and pressed her close to me; my
right hand involuntarily seized the dagger which I still had in my
belt.
Wanda fixed a large, calm, incomprehensible look on me.
“I like you that way,” she said, carelessly. “Now you are a man, and at
this moment I know I still love you.”
“Wanda,” I wept with rapture, and bent down over her, covering her dear
face with kisses, and she, suddenly breaking into a loud gay laugh,
said, “Have you finished with your ideal now, are you satisfied with
me?”
“You mean?” I stammered, “that you weren’t serious?”
“I am very serious,” she gaily continued. “I love you, only you, and
you—you foolish, little man, didn’t know that everything was only
make-believe and play-acting. How hard it often was for me to strike
you with the whip, when I would have rather taken your head and covered
it with kisses. But now we are through with that, aren’t we? I have
played my cruel role better than you expected, and now you will be
satisfied with my being a good, little wife who isn’t altogether
unattractive. Isn’t that so? We will live like rational people—”
“You will marry me!” I cried, overflowing with happiness.
“Yes—marry you—you dear, darling man,” whispered Wanda, kissing my
hands.