Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - Gösta Berling—Poet
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mingled fear and rage. They reached the turning at
the same time as the wolves, and Gösta drove off
the foremost with his whip.
“Ah, Don Juan, my boy, how easily you would
outstrip your pursuers if you had not to carry us
with you!”
They fastened the green travelling-rug behind
the sledge. The wolves were frightened, and kept
at a distance for a short time, but they soon
conquered their fear, and one of them sprang with
panting open jaws at the sledge, and Gösta flung
Madame de Staëls Corinne down its throat.
Again they had a moment’s respite while this
booty was devoured, but soon the wolves began to
tear at the rug, their quick breathing was heard
behind. They knew there was no shelter to be hoped
for before they reached Berga, but worse than
death itself was the thought to Gösta of seeing the
people he had betrayed. He knew also that Don
Juan could not hold out much longer, and what
was to become of them?
Now they saw the Berga farmstead in the forest
clearing. Lights streamed from the windows. Gösta
knew too well for whose sake.
Just then the wolves fled, fearing the neighborhood
of man, and Gösta drove past Berga; but he
did not get far, for, where the road turned into the
forest again, he saw a dark group fronting him—the
wolves awaited them.
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