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The great autumn baking at Ekeby had just
taken place. Since the Countess Elizabeth’s arrival,
the work of the house had again been resumed. It
seemed as if she never for a moment remembered
that she was Gösta Berling’s wife; neither of them
referred to the fact, but instead of that, she made
herself mistress of Ekeby. As a good woman must
always do, she tried with burning zeal to overcome
the wastefulness and extravagance prevalent there.
And she was obeyed; the people experienced a kind
of pleasure in having a mistress over them again.
But of what use was it now that the kitchen rafters
had been covered with bread, and that she had
taken charge of the cheese and butter-making and
the brewing, during the month of September, which
she had spent there?
For the people must have all there was in the
house that they might not burn Ekeby and murder
the cavaliers. Out with the bread and butter and
cheese! Out with the beer barrels and casks! Out
with the hams from the pantries! Out with the
brandy kegs and the apples!
How could all the riches of Ekeby hope to mitigate
this people’s wrath? If they go away without
any dark deed being done, we ought to be thankful.
But all that was done was chiefly for her sake, for
her who was mistress of Ekeby. The cavaliers were
courageous and practical men-at-arms; they would
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