In horrified petrifaction, Marcia watched the guard callously slap Marie’s carnation-smooth cheeks, alternating left and right, viciously bearing his teeth and bringing his evil face close to the blond girl’s piteous countenance.

“Oh… ooooh! Monsieur! No-oh, you hurt me! Aaaa! Stop!”

And the lovely soubrette cringed and writhed, maintained in the rigorous grasp of her tormentor, cowering, bending, turning, trying to evade the rain of deliberately applied slaps, till her cheeks were fiery and tears streamed down those palpitating contours from her dilating blue eyes.

“Will you give in, you little bitch?” growled the brutal jailer, holding his hand high, ready to resume the correction.

“Yes… oh… oh… let me go! Je vous en prie! Que je souffte!” moaned the anguished Marie, trembling, her golden head tranquilly drooping.

Meanwhile, the gowned harpy, standing calmly before the closed door, kept the muzzle of her tiny revolver pointed at Marcia’s face; the latter was pale, her lips trembled, her eyes dilated at the scene of cruelty which she was powerless to avert.

Joe released Marie’s wrists, then growled, “Off with your dress, now, unless you want another good dose… only, this time I’ll use a whip Madame Lil keeps just for uncooperative little sluts!”

Was this a nightmare? Marcia asked herself. How had this come about, this sudden reversal from her well-ordered life? How had her captors managed to know the itinerary of her parents and how had Marie fallen into the trap as well as she?