NILS STENSSON (approaching the picture). I swear it—so help
me God's holy word!
(Falls back a step in amazement.)
But—Christ save me——!
NILS LYKKE. What now?
NILS STENSSON. The picture——! Sure 'tis myself!
NILS LYKKE. 'Tis old Sten Sture, even as he lived and moved in his youthful years.
NILS STENSSON. Sten Sture!—And the likeness——? And—said you not I spoke the truth, when I called myself a Count's son? Was't not so?
NILS LYKKE. So it was.
NILS STENSSON. Ah, I have it, I have it! I am——
NILS LYKKE. You are Sten Sture's son, good Sir.
NILS STENSSON (with the quiet of amazement). I Sten Sture's son!
NILS LYKKE. On the mother's side too your blood is noble. Peter Kanzler spoke not the truth, if he said that a poor peasant woman was your mother.