All? Then she told you his name?
Elina.
His name? No; his name she did not tell me. She shrank from his name as though it stung her;—she never uttered it.
Lady Inger.
[Relieved, to herself.] Ah, then you do not know all——
Elina—’tis true that the whole of this matter was well known to me. But there is one thing it seems you have overlooked. The lord whom Lucia met in Bergen was a Dane——
Elina.
That, too, I know.
Lady Inger.
And his love was a lie. With guile and soft speeches he had ensnared her.