The alfereza stopped dancing as if ashamed. She raised the whip, that terrible whip made in Ulango and improved by the alferez by winding wire around it, that same terrible whip which the ladrones and soldiers knew so well.
“Now it is your turn to dance ... dance!”
And she began to whip lightly the demented woman’s bare feet.
The pale face contracted with pain, and she was obliged to defend herself from the blows by her hands.
“Come! Go ahead!” she exclaimed with savage delight, and she passed from lento to allegro-vivace in the use of her whip.
The unhappy woman screamed and quickly raised her feet.
“You have got to dance, you d——d Indian!” exclaimed the Señora and the whip whizzed and whistled.
The woman let herself sink to the floor and tried to cover her legs with her hands, at the same time looking with wild eyes at her tormentor. Two heavy lashes on her back made her rise again. Now it was no longer a scream; it was a howl which escaped from the unfortunate woman. The thin shirt was torn, the skin broke open and the blood oozed out.
The sight of blood excites a tiger; so, too, the sight of the blood of her victim infuriated Doña Consolacion.
“Dance! dance! Curse you! D——n you! Dance! Cursed be the mother who bore you!” she cried. “Dance, or I’ll kill you by whipping you to death!”