GUDMUND.
I thank you. And how goes it with her? She thrives well in every way, I make no doubt?
BENGT.
Aye, you may be sure she does. There is nothing she lacks. She has five handmaidens, no less, at her beck and call; a courser stands ready saddled in the stall when she lists to ride abroad. In one word, she has all that a noble lady can desire to make her happy in her lot.
GUDMUND.
And Margit—is she then happy?
BENGT.
God and all men would think that she must be; but, strange to say—
GUDMUND.
What mean you?