should miss you?
“Oh, he is never likely to miss me, and if he did he would not think of looking for me here. But you might as well shut that door.”
“What a thoughtful little woman you are,” said the Count. He put down the bottle of Champagne, walked across the room, and locked the door. Then he returned, picked up the bottle again, and began to take off the wire.
“I see you understand opening champagne,” said Maud.
“Oh, that's not the only sort of thing I open in this room,” replied the Count, smiling at her lasciviously, and then glancing at the bed.
Maud stretched out her dainty foot and gave him a little kick. “I expect you find it easier, to open the champagne than the — other thing,” she said.
The cork flew out with a loud pop, and the Count deftly poured the foaming amber liquid into two large goblets, one of which he handed her with a bow, and then came and sat down on the chair beside her. “You have seen how well I open champagne,” he said, “would you like to see how well I can open — ”
“A girl's legs?” she replied quickly. “Well, I suppose I must let you. For I see you want a bit,” and she rose and began to take off her dress. In a few moments she stood before him in only her chemise and drawers. “I was not going to have my dress spoiled,” she added, “and at any rate you will have to give me another. Beside, I know you like me better without my clothes.
“Of course I do, darling,” replied the Count. “You shall have all the dresses you want, as long as you take them off when you come to me.”
“Very well,” said Maud, “don't let us waste any time. How are you going to have me? Lying on the bed, or astride on your knees, or from behind?”
Before the Count could answer, Brandon who could contain himself no longer, had thrown aside the curtain and bounded into the room. He seized his wife by the arm and threw her from him violently.
“You miserable whore,” he cried, “I do not know what prevents me from killing you and your vile paramour together. Put on your clothes at once, and come along home with me. To-morrow I will consider what I shall do to you. As for you,” he added, turning to the Count, “you may thank your stars that you are in your own house. As it is, two of my friends shall wait on you in the morning. Dueling is forbidden in England, but there are plenty of places outside Calais or Boulogne where I suppose you could have no objection to meet me, and, since I am debarred from the pleasure of knocking you down, let me at least have the satisfaction of putting a bullet into you.”
The Count who was a man of the world, rose to his feet and bowed stiffly.
“It shall be as you wish, sir,” he said quietly; “your friends will find me here, and if you consider I owe you any reparation, I shall be happy to give it.” Suddenly he started, and then added, “In the meantime, sir, I should be glad to know how it is that my purse is in your hand.
Brandon looked at him blankly, and then he remembered, and he tossed the purse from him as though it had been a poisonous snake. He tottered to a chair, fell into it, and strong man though he was, he sobbed aloud.
The Count looked at him pityingly for a few moments, then he walked up to Brandon, and laid his hand on the painter's shoulder.
“I can see how it is, my poor fellow,” he said kindly. “You love that woman,” and he glanced at Maud who was lying in a swoon on the sofa.
“You love her so much that for her sake, and that you may supply her with everything that her extravagant nature demands, you have not hesitated to take money that did not belong to you.
“Yes,” replied Brandon; “I loved her so much that I would have sacrificed anything-even my own honour — for her sake, but my love for her has gone, for I see now that she no longer cares for me, and that you have her affection.
“My dear fellow,” said the Count, “she cares absolutely nothing for me, except for the one reason that I can give her money to satisfy her extravagant wants.” He stooped down, and whispered in Brandon's ear, “Have you a riding-whip at home?”
Brandon did not understand the question, but he nodded affirmatively.
“Well, then, take her home,” whispered the Count; “tie her up to the bed-post, and with a whip, or cane, or, better still, a birch rod, give her a sound flogging — make her smart well, but don't be too cruel, and I think you will find that will not only cure her of gadding about after other men, but will restore to both of you the love and affection you both had when you first married. Try it, and I think you will be glad you followed my advice.”
Brandon nodded, but could not reply, and at that moment Maud opened her eyes, and looked wildly round. When she saw her husband sitting at the other side of the room, with his face buried in his hands, she began to sob again, but she rose from the couch and mechanically began to put on her petticoats and dress.
The Count did not say a word, but as soon as he saw she was dressed, he left the room, and returned in a minute or two with her cloak, which he helped her to put on. Her husband took her arm, and after bowing to the Count, led her out of the room and downstairs. The Count had sent one of the footmen for a cab, which was now at the door. Maud looking half dazed, entered the cab, and Brandon having told the driver the address, entered the vehicle, which started off at that jog trot peculiar to the London growler.
Neither Maud nor Brandon spoke for some time. At last she asked, “Are you going to fight the Count?”
“Perhaps,” replied Brandon. “Would it grieve you very much if I killed him?”
“No,” she retorted angrily, “I wish you would both kill each other. I hate both of you. He gives me money, but he can only paw me about, and you who can satisfy me, have no money.”
At this moment the cab drew up at the door of their little house in Chelsea. Brandon dismissed the cab, and opened the door with his latch-key. Maud entered the house, and her husband having locked the door, lighted a candle and motioned to his wife to ascend the stairs. The servant had gone to bed, knowing that her master could let himself in.
HOW A WIFE WAS THRASHED
Man demands unconditional fidelity from his wife, but does not concede to her the right to demand the same from him. When she forgets herself, she has committed a deadly sin, whose lightest penalty is public contempt; when he does the same, he has only been guilty, of a charming little lapse from duty for which the law has no penalty, at which society smiles discreetly and good-naturedly, and which the wife pardons with tears and caresses if she took it seriously in the first place. And the unfairness of this dual standard is increased by the circumstance that in reality it is not the same whether the husband or the wife is guilty of infidelity: for if the wife sins, she is passive in the matter — led astray by a man, that is, a power independent of her will; she succumbs to a force which is stronger than her powers of resistance; but when the husband sins he is not passive; he sins because he wishes to sin; there are very few Josephs outside of the Bible, and the wife of Potiphar is a rarity; the man takes the initiative in sin, he goes in quest of it, and commits it with concentrated purpose and premeditation, with energy and in spite of the resistance offered to him.
The excitement and revulsion of feeling had been so great, that Brandon felt so hot and stifled that he could scarcely breathe. The first thing he did on entering the bedroom was to lock the door, and then he hastily threw off his dress-suit and boots.
Maud stood in the middle of the room, and gazed at him with a half-terrified expression. “You are not going to kill me?” she asked in frightened tones.
“No, I am not,” he replied, “though you richly deserve it.” He stopped in front of her and looked at her dress. “I suppose your lover paid for that,” he said; “take it off at once.”
She did not obey at once, and he roughly stripped off her dress and all other garments except her stockings and shoes. He then went into his dressing room and returned with a long piece of rope, which he securely fastened round one of her wrists. Then he made her put one arm on each side of the bed-post and fastened both wrists together. She looked at him appealingly, but did not venture to resist. He fetched a handkerchief, and tied it securely over her mouth to prevent her screams being heard. Finally he opened a cupboard, and hesitated for some time whether he should select a riding whip, a Malacca cane, or a leather strap, — for it need not be said that having never anticipated that he would need a birch rod, he had never supplied himself with that valuable adjunct to
