"No, I will see about that myself."
The next evening the enamored stockbroker came to the house of the charming little Baroness, and found her alone, lying on a couch, wrapped in a dark fur, while she held a dog whip in her small hand, which the man from the Ghetto kissed.
"You know our agreement," she began.
"Of course I do," the Stock Exchange baron replied. "I am to allow you to give me twenty-five cuts with the whip, and after the twenty-fifth you will listen to me."
"Yes, but I am going to tie your hands first of all."
The amorous baron quietly allowed this new Delila to tie his hands behind him, and then at her bidding, he knelt down before her, and she raised her whip and hit him hard.
"Oh! That hurts me most confoundedly," he exclaimed.
"I mean it to hurt you," she said with a mocking laugh, and went on thrashing him without mercy. At last the poor fool groaned with pain, but he consoled himself with the thought that each blow brought him nearer to his happiness.
At the twenty-fourth cut, she threw the whip down.
"That only makes twenty-four," the beaten would-be, Don Juan, remarked.