[Sits for a while as though struck dumb with surprise; then exclaims in a low voice:
Aha,—what a letter! Gold would not buy it!
Nils Stensson.
’Tis plain I have brought you weighty tidings. Ay, ay,—Peter Kanzler has many irons in the fire, folk say.
Nils Lykke.
[To himself.] What to do with all this? A thousand paths are open to me—What if I were—? No, ’twere to risk too much. But if—ah, if I—? I will venture it!
[Tears the letter across, crumples up the pieces, and hides them inside his doublet; puts back the other papers into the packet, which he thrusts inside his belt; rises and says:
A word, my young friend!
Nils Stensson.
[Approaching him.] Well—your looks say that the game goes bravely.