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But silence, you who croak of misfortune! Wait
till night, if you would hoot in concert with the
forest owl. Borg still gleamed on the height of the
promontory, protected by its park of mighty pine
trees, and the snow-covered fields below glittered
in the blinding sunlight of a March morning, and
the glad laugh of the gay little Countess Elizabeth
was heard within its walls.
On Sundays she used to go to Svartsjö church,
which lay near Borg, and gather together some
friends to dinner. The Judge from Munkerud and
his family and the Ugglas from Berga, the curate
and his wife and wicked Sintram usually came, and
if Gösta Berling had come to Svartsjö over the ice
of the Löfven, she invited him too. Why should
she not invite Gösta Berling?
She probably did not know gossips already whispered
that Gösta went to the east shore so often
for the purpose of meeting the Countess. Perhaps
he also went to sup and gamble with Sintram; but
no one thought much of that, they all knew his
body was like iron, but it was quite another thing
with his heart. No one believed that he could see
a pair of bright eyes and fair hair curling round a
white forehead without falling in love.
The young Countess was very kind to him; but
there was nothing exceptional in that, for she was
kind to all. She seated ragged urchins on her knee;
and when driving, if she passed any poor old wretch
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