"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 hoa.r.s.ely 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.

I drew her up to my breast.

"Now, you are no longer Gregor, my slave," said she, "but Severin, the dear man I love--"

"And he--you don't love him?" I asked in agitation.

"How could you imagine my loving a man of his brutal type? You were blind to everything, I was really afraid for you."

"I almost killed myself for your sake."

"Really?" she cried, "ah, I still tremble at the thought, that you were already in the Arno."

"But you saved me," I replied, tenderly. "You hovered over the waters and smiled, and your smile called me back to life."

I have a curious feeling when I now hold her in my arms and she lies silently against my breast and lets me kiss her and smiles. I feel like one who has suddenly awakened out of a feverish delirium, or like a shipwrecked man who has for many days battled with waves that momentarily threatened to devour him and finally has found a safe sh.o.r.e.

"I hate this Florence, where you have been so unhappy," she declared, as I was saying good-night to her. "I want to leave immediately, tomorrow, you will be good enough to write a couple of letters for me, and, while you are doing that, I will drive to the city to pay my farewell visits. Is that satisfactory to you?"

"Of course, you dear, sweet, beautiful woman."

Early in the morning she knocked at my door to ask how I had slept.

Her tenderness is positively wonderful. I should never have believed that she could be so tender.

She has now been gone for over four hours. I have long since finished the letters, and am now sitting in the gallery, looking down the street to see whether I cannot discover her carriage in the distance. I am a little worried about her, and yet I know there is no reason under heaven why I should doubt or fear. However, a feeling of oppression weighs me down, and I cannot rid myself of it. It is probably the sufferings of the past days, which still cast their shadows into my soul.

She is back, radiant with happiness and contentment.

"Well, has everything gone as you wished?" I asked tenderly, kissing her hand.

"Yes, dear heart," she replied, "and we shall leave to-night. Help me pack my trunks."

Toward evening she asked me to go to the post-office and mail her letters myself. I took her carriage, and was back within an hour.

"Mistress has asked for you," said the negress, with a grin, as I ascended the wide marble stairs.

"Has anyone been here?"

"No one," she replied, crouching down on the steps like a black cat.

I slowly pa.s.sed through the drawing-room, and then stood before her bedroom door.

Why does my heart beat so? Am I not perfectly happy?

Opening the door softly, I draw back the portiere. Wanda is lying on the ottoman, and does not seem to notice me. How beautiful she looks, in her silver-gray dress, which fits closely, and while displaying in tell-tale fashion her splendid figure, leaves her wonderful bust and arms bare.

Her hair is interwoven with, and held up by a black velvet ribbon.

A mighty fire is burning in the fire-place, the hanging lamp casts a reddish glow, and the whole room is as if drowned in blood.

"Wanda," I said at last.