“You won’t answer, I see. Then Sintram told the truth.” And Gösta goes back to the other pensioners. He does not lift a finger to help the major’s wife. Oh, if only she had not put the pensioners at a separate table off there in the corner by the stove! Now the thoughts of the night awake in their minds, and a rage burns in their faces which is not less than the major’s own. In pitiless hardness they stand, unmoved by her prayers. Did not everything they saw confirm the events of the night? “One can see that she did not get her contract renewed,” murmurs one. “Go to hell, hag!” screams another. “By rights we ought to hunt you from the door.” “Fools,” cries the gentle old Uncle Eberhard to the pensioners. “Don’t you understand it was Sintram?” “Of course we understand; of course we know it,” answers Julius; “but what of that? May it not be true, at any rate? Does not Sintram go on the devil’s errands? Don’t they understand one another?” “Go yourself, Eberhard; go and help her!” they mock. “You don’t believe in hell. You can go!” And Gösta Berling stands, without a word, motionless. No, from the threatening, murmuring, struggling bachelors’ wing she will get no help. Then once again she retreats to the door and raises her clasped hands to her eyes. “‘May you be disowned, as I have been disowned,’” she cries to herself in her bitter sorrow. “‘May the highway be your home, the hay-stack your bed!’” Then she lays one hand on the door latch, but the other she stretches on high. “Know you all, who now let me fall, know that your hour is soon coming! You shall be scattered, and your place shall stand empty. How can you stand when I do not hold you up? You, Melchior Sinclair, who have a heavy hand and let your wife feel it, beware! You, minister at Broby, your punishment is coming! Madame Uggla, look after your house; poverty is coming! You young, beautiful women—Elizabeth Dohna, Marianne Sinclair, Anna Stjärnhök—do not think that I am the only one who must flee from her home. And beware, pensioners, a storm is coming over the land. You will be swept away from the earth; your day is over, it is verily over! I do not lament for myself, but for you; for the storm shall pass over your heads, and who shall stand when I have fallen? And my heart bleeds for my poor people. Who will give them work when I am gone?” She opens the door; but then Captain Christian lifts his head and says:— “How long must I lie here at your feet, Margareta Celsing? Will you not forgive me, so that I may stand up and fight for you?” Then the major’s wife fights a hard battle with herself; but she sees that if she forgives him he will rise up and attack her husband; and this man, who has loved her faithfully for forty years will become a murderer. “Must I forgive, too?” she says. “Are you not the cause of all my misfortune, Christian Bergh? Go to the pensioners and rejoice over your work.”