Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - The Auction at Björne
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longed to ask you all the time. Think of it—I
know nothing about her except that she is alive.
I have heard nothing from her all this time, not
even when I sent her some clothes, and I thought
neither of you meant to tell me anything.”
Gösta could not withstand the pity of it. He was
wild and giddy. God sometimes sent His wolves
after him to compel his obedience, but the tears of
that old mother and her wailing were worse to bear
than the howling of the wolves. He told her the
truth.
“Marienne has been ill all the time,” he said.
“She has had smallpox. She was to sit up to-day on
the sofa. I have not seen her since that first
night.”
With a bound Fru Gustafva was on the floor.
She left Gösta standing there and rushed at once to
her husband. The people in the auction room saw
her come and whisper something eagerly in his ear.
They saw his face redden, while his hand resting on
the tap of the cask twisted it till the gin flowed over
the floor. It seemed to all that she brought important
news which would stop the sale. The auctioneer’s
voice ceased, the clerks stopped writing, there
were no further bids.
Melchior Sinclaire awoke from his thoughts.
“Well,” he screamed, “are n’t you to go on?” And
the auction was in full swing again.
Gösta still sat in the kitchen when Fru Gustafva
came back weeping to him. “It was no use,” she
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