LADY INGER (touches her arm). My child—this knight is——
ELINA (motions her mother back with her hand, still looking intently at him, and says:) There is no need! I see who he is. He is Nils Lykke.
NILS LYKKE (aside, to LADY INGER). How? Does she know me?
Can Lucia have——? Can she know——?
LADY INGER. Hush! She knows nothing.
ELINA (to herself). I knew it;—even so must Nils Lykke appear.
NILS LYKKE (approaches her). Yes, Elina Gyldenlove,—you have guessed rightly. And as it seems that, in some sense, you know me,—and moreover, as I am your mother's guest,—you will not deny me the flower-spray you wear in your bosom. So long as it is fresh and fragrant I shall have in it an image of yourself.
ELINA (proudly, but still gazing at him). Pardon me, Sir Knight— it was plucked in my own chamber, and there can grow no flower for you.
NILS LYKKE (loosening a spray of flowers that he wears in the front of his doublet). At least you will not disdain this humble gift. 'Twas a farewell token from a courtly lady when I set forth from Trondhiem this morning.—But mark me, noble maiden,—were I to offer you a gift that were fully worthy of you, it could be naught less than a princely crown.
ELINA (who has taken the flowers passively). And were it the royal crown of Denmark you held forth to me—before I shared it with you, I would crush it to pieces between my hands, and cast the fragments at your feet!
(Throws down the flowers at his feet, and goes into the
Banquet Hall.)