From the first he had foreseen what must come, and had been prepared for it. He saw imminent at last the hysterical collapse long threatened, and the look of the dog came to his face. His teeth showed; tight puckers gathered over his eyebrows; he held her with a glare as he moved on her. With a little sob, half terror, half defiance, she struck out at him--and on the instant he had her in his grip. His sinews, for all his slight build, were like thongs of steel; her mad struggles availed nothing against their vicious devilry. She made no tumult, uttered no scream; but in silence fought and writhed, biting at his hands, at his clothes, at anything, until, falling upon her knees, he had her, torn and dishevelled, at his mercy. He showed her none. Seizing her by the ears, by her tumbled hair, he forced her head back, and, snarling, put his knee against her throat. Presently her struggles weakened, grew spasmodic, and a desperate imploring look came to her eyes. Then--for he knew his lady--relaxing the pressure, and releasing his right hand, he felt on the table behind him for a riding switch he had laid there, and, holding her down with his left, applied it furiously to her shoulders. One of them had been wrenched bare in the tussle; he did not spare the naked flesh for that, but rather lusted to see it quiver and crimson under his blows. And all the time she made no outcry--that was the strange thing--but only writhed and shrunk away, with now and then a panting sob or a quicker gasp when a crueller cut went home. And at the end, when, his fury spent, he ceased, looking, with hard breathing, down upon her--lo and behold, she flung convulsive arms about his knees, and, with the released tears running down her cheeks, put her head against him, like a poor conscience-guilty dog begging pardon. Surely the immortal thing in woman’s love is its illogicalness. La Coque knew his lady, I say; he took the satisfaction of a tyrant in making her know him. He did not spurn her now, but he stood unmoved and unmoving. “Get to your feet,” he said: “do you hear?” She obeyed and stood before him, a woeful girl, streaked and torn by his brutality, waiting breathless on his word. “Have you come to your senses?” he demanded. “Yes--Charlot.” Her voice still caught in sobs, though she tried to command it. “Will you do what I tell you?” “Yes.”