would have him flogged to death. That is what I propose."

"Father," gasped Suzanne, in horror, a horror that was echoed by
the other three or four ladies present. But the Marquise only
laughed.

"He will be; richly served," she approved, with a sage nod of her
pumpkin-like head-dress - "most richly served."

A great pity arose now in the heart of Mademoiselle, as her father
went below that he might carry out his barbarous design. She was
deaf to the dainty trifles which the most elegant Chevalier de
Jacquelin was murmuring into heir ear. She stood, a tall, queenly
figure, at the balcony's parapet and watched the preparations that
were being made.

She heard her father's harshly-voiced commands. She saw them
literally tear the clothes from the unfortunate secretary's back,
and lash him - naked to the waist - to the pump that stood by the
horse-trough at the far end of the yard. His body was now hidden
from her sight, but his head appeared surmounting the pillar of the
pump, his chin seeming to rest upon its summit, and his face was
towards her. At his side stood a powerful knave armed with a
stout, leather-thonged whip.

"How many strokes, Monseigneur?" she heard the man inquire.

"How many?" echoed the Marquise. "Do I know how many it will take
to make an end of him? Beat him to death, man. Allons!
Set about it."