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“See that everything is put in order again here,
Gustafva,” he said; “I am going to bring Marienne
home.”
“Yes, dear Melchior, I will put it all in order
again,” she answered.
And everything was clear between them.
An hour later he was on his way to Ekeby.
There were not many nobler-looking or kindlier
old gentlemen than the great squire, as he sat in
his sledge in his best fur coat and belt. His hair
was smoothly combed, but his face was pale, and his
eyes appeared to have sunk in their sockets.
And there seemed no end to the glory which
streamed from heaven that February morning. The
snow glittered like a girl’s eyes when the first notes
of a waltz are being played. The birches stretched
their fine network of red-brown branches over the
sky, and some of them had fingers of small, sparkling
icicles. There was a glory and holiday glitter
about the day. The horses pranced, lifting high their
forefeet, and the coachman cracked his whip in
pure joy. After a short drive, the sledge drew up
before the great entrance to Ekeby.
A servant came out.
“Where are your masters?” asked the squire.
“They are hunting the great bear on Gurlita
Cliff.”
“All of them?”
“All of them, sir. He that has not gone for the
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