Lady Inger.
Truly it is! What can one say, dear Sir? ’Tis an age of tattling tongues. Many a scurril knave will make jeering rhymes at your expense. Ere half a year is out, you will be all men’s fable; people will stop and gaze after you on the high roads; ’twill be: “Look, look; there rides Sir Nils Lykke, that fared north to Östråt to trap Inger Gyldenlöve, and was caught in his own nets.”—Softly, softly, Sir Knight, why so impatient! ’Tis not that I think so; I do but forecast the thoughts of the malicious and evil-minded; and of them, alas! there are many.— Ay, ’tis shame; but so it is—you will reap nought but mockery—mockery, because a woman was craftier than you. “Like a cunning fox,” men will say, “he crept into Östråt; like a beaten hound he slunk away.”—And one thing more: think you not that Peter Kanzler and his friends will forswear your alliance, when ’tis known that I venture not to fight under a standard borne by you?
Nils Lykke.
You speak wisely, lady! Wherefore to secure me from mockery—and not to endanger the alliance with all our dear friends in Sweden—I must needs——
Lady Inger.
[Hastily.] ——prolong your stay at Östråt.
Olaf Skaktavl.
[Who has been listening.] He is in the trap!
Nils Lykke.
No, my noble lady;—I must needs bring you to terms within this hour.