“Violette, my sweet darling, I can no longer restrain myself; I shall become mad!”

I tried to tear myself away from her embraces.

“No,” she said. “Remain if you love me. Do not be afraid of hurting me, I wish it.”

She then slipped under me, clasped her arms around my neck, twined her thighs round mine, pushing her body against my own.

“I wish it,” she repeated-“I wish it.”

Suddenly she gave a little shriek.

All my fine resolutions had vanished. At the same time that Violette began to understand what was a maidenhead, she had lost her own.

On hearing her cry out, I stopped.

“Oh, no” she said, “go on!… go on!… You hurt me; but if you did not hurt me, I should be too happy! I wish to have pain! Go, do not stop! Do, dear Christian, my beloved! my friend! Oh, I shall go mad!

“Oh, it is like fire! Oh, I die!

“Take me, take all!”

Ah! Mahomet fully knew by what dream he should enthrall man when he gave his disciples the sensual Paradise-a bottomless abyss of voluptuous rapture always renewed.

We spent a night full of bliss-of passionate caresses, and never closed eyes till day break.

“Ah!” said she, on waking and embracing me, “I hope now I am no longer a virgin.”

CHAPTER IV

The pain which poor Violette had suffered was not serious; but it was irritating when not counteracted by love's pleasures. I told her before leaving that she should bathe the injured parts in bran water, with an application of a decoction of marshmallow.

I had to explain to her the anatomy of the parts under treatment, and, with the aid of a looking glass, and thanks to the pliancy of her body, I was able to make the demonstration on her own person.

Violette, in her innocence, had never thought of looking at herself and what she saw was perfectly unknown to her.