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parchment or tied-up money pouches; we are, and
still remain, cavaliers.”
“The very words of wisdom,” mumbled the dark
gentleman.
“So, if you give us the seven foundries for one
year, we will take them; but remember this, if
during that time we do anything which is uncavalier-like,
anything sensible or useful or effeminate, you
can take all the twelve of us, when the year is out,
and give the foundries to whom you like.”
The wicked one rubbed his hands with glee.
“But if we always behave like true cavaliers,”
continued Gösta, “you must never again make any
contract about Ekeby, and you forfeit your wage for
this year, both from us and from the Major’s wife.”
“That is hard,” said the devil. “Oh, dear Gösta,
I ought to get one soul, one poor little soul. I might
as well have the Major’s wife. Why do you spare
her?”
“I don’t buy and sell such goods,” said Gösta.
“But if you must have some one, you can take old
Sintram at Fors; he is about ready for you, I can
answer for it.”
“See, see, that is worth mentioning,” said the
dark gentleman without blinking—“the cavaliers
against Sintram. It will be a good year.”
And so the contract was written with blood taken
from Gösta Berling’s little finger, on black paper
supplied by the Evil One, with his own goose quill.
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