[A short pause.
Margrete.
[Turns her head and says:] They have chosen Håkon Håkonsson king.
[The music of the royal procession is heard, first in the distance and then nearer and nearer. Lady Ragnhild clings weeping to Sigrid, who leads her quietly out on the right; Margrete remains immovable, leaning against the window-frame. The King’s attendants open the great doors, disclosing the interior of the Hall, which is gradually filled by the procession from the mote-stead.
Håkon.
[In the doorway, turning to Ivar Bodde.] Bring me a pen and wax and silk—I have parchment here. [Advances exultantly to the table and spreads some rolls of parchment upon it.] Margrete, now am I King!
Margrete.
Hail to my lord and King!
Håkon.
I thank you. [Looks at her and takes her hand.] Forgive me; I forgot that it must wound you.