Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - Mamsell Marie
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be always. Her feet were not too old for dancing,
nor her heart for love. When did she ever weary
of masquerades and comedies, of droll tales and
plaintive ballads?
When Pleasure betimes was homeless in the great
world converted into a battlefield, she would take
refuge for a longer or shorter period at the Count’s
old manor on the shores of Lake Löfven, as in
the time of the Holy Alliance, when the princes
and their courts had become too dull for her
ladyship. It was during one of these visits that she had
thought it well to make Gösta Berling her son’s
tutor. She always enjoyed her stay at Borg. Never
had Pleasure a more ideal kingdom, with gay,
beautiful women and adventure-loving men. There was
no lack of feasts and balls, of boating-parties on
moonlit lakes, nor sleighing-parties through dark
forests, nor thrilling heart-experiences.
But after her daughter’s death the Countess had
ceased coming. She had not visited Borg in five
years. Now she came to see how her daughter-in-law
bore the life among the pines, the bears, and the
snows. She deemed it her duty to find out whether
the tiresome Henrik had quite bored her to death
with his stupidities, and she meant to play the gentle
angel of domesticity. Sunshine and happiness were
packed in her forty leather portmanteaux, Mirth
was her handmaiden, Play her companion, Banter
her charioteer.
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