Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - The Young Countess
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could almost have laughed at her standing there
looking so angry, with burning cheeks and
frowning eyebrows.
“You don’t know how good and sweet you are,”
he thought. That side of her character which
inclined toward the world of the senses would never
do her real self justice. But from that hour, Gösta
Berling was compelled to be her servant, as one
serves all that is beautiful and godly. Yes, it was no
good regretting that he had treated her so roughly.
If she had not been so frightened, if she had not
pushed him aside so wildly, if he had not felt that
all her being was shuddering at his coarseness, he
would never have known, never have guessed, what
a noble and sensitive spirit dwelt within her.
He never had believed it before. She had only
cared for dancing and amusement, and she had found
it possible to marry that stupid Count Henrik.
Yes, now he would be her slave till death—“dog
and slave,” as Captain Kristian used to say,
“and nothing more.”
Gösta Berling sat near the door with folded hands,
and held a kind of adoration service. Since the day
he had felt the fire of inspiration touch him, he
had never experienced such blessedness in his soul.
Though Count Henrik came into the room with
a crowd of men, all swearing and lamenting over
the cavaliers’ many pranks, it did not distract him.
He let Beerencreutz meet the storm, and he, the
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