But she could not shut it out.

Still she heard the humming of the whip and the cruel sound of the falling blows.

Mechanically she counted them, unconsciously almost, and at twenty she heard them cease.

Was it over?
Was he dead, this poor unfortunate?
Moved by a curiosity that was greater than her loathing, she rose and went to the threshold of the balcony.
"Is it ended ?" she asked.
"Ended ?" echoed Monsieur de Jacquelin, with a shrug.

"It is scarce begun, it seems.