Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - The Ball at Ekeby
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“Is it you, mother?” asked Marienne.
“Yes, my child.”
“Can I come in now?”
“Your father won’t let you in.”
“I have walked in my thin shoes from Ekeby.
I have stood here an hour and knocked and called.
I am freezing to death. Why did you leave me?”
“My child, my child, why did you kiss Gösta
Berling?”
“But tell my father that that does not mean that
I love Gösta; it was in fun. Does he think I want
to marry Gösta?”
“Go to the farm-bailiff’s house, Marienne, and
ask to remain there for the night. Your father is
drunk, he won’t hear reason. He locked me upstairs.
I crept out when I thought he slept. He will kill me
if I let you in.”
“But, mother, shall I go to strangers when I have
my own home? Are you as hard as my father? How
can you allow him to shut me out? I will lie here in
the snowdrifts, if you won’t let me in.”
Marienne’s mother laid her hand on the latch,
but at that moment heavy steps were heard on the
staircase and a harsh voice called her.
Marienne listened—her mother hurried away;
the harsh voice was scolding, and then …
Marienne heard something awful—every sound in the
silent house reached her ears. She heard the sound
of a blow—of the stroke of a stick or a blow on the
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