Anne gasped.
“Recognised them?”
“‘Twas the eyes of the Swede. If it’s my last words on earth. I swear they were the eyes of the Ré Valley Swede!”
§ 11
The moonlight had reached Gaupa in the hut. Bjönn jumped up to him in bed, nosed his head and licked his hair, tail wagging. Gaupa stroked Bjönn’s head.
“Poor doggie mine,” he whispered. The dog lay down beside him, but with raised head, and stared through the window across the marshes.
In a little while the bed started falling over. The bed turned over and Gaupa turned over against the table. It felt as if the bed was trying to throw him out and get rid of him, and he grabbed the skins with both hands, holding on as tight as tight. He had never felt such a sensation before.
There now, he was level again—how delightful! The bed calmed down; but what a number of lakes and brooks there were in that square of moonlight on the floor! A flood of little brooklets.... And then the bed began to tilt again, it turned upside down, and Gaupa clenched his fists, holding on for dear life till the perspiration ran down his skull.
Day dawned. Gaupa was talking to himself with eyes closed, while the stars vanished one by one.
On the brink of the precipice towards the Ré Valley stood Rauten.