Alas, ’tis women of twenty and thereabouts that ditty speaks of. Lady Inger Gyldenlöve is nigh on fifty, and wily to boot beyond all women. ’Twill be no light matter to overmatch her. But it _must_ be done—at any cost. Should I contrive to win certain advantages over her that the King has long desired, I can reckon on the embassy to France next spring. You know that I spent three years at the University in Paris? My whole soul is set on coming thither again, most of all if I can appear in lofty place, a king’s ambassador.—Well, then—is it agreed—do you leave Lady Inger to me? Remember—when you were last at Court in Copenhagen, I made way for you with more than one fair lady—— JENS BIELKE. Nay, truly now—that generosity cost you little; one and all of them were at your beck and call. But let that pass; now that I have begun amiss in this matter, I had as lief that you should take it on your shoulders. Yet _one_ thing you must promise—if the young Count Sture be in Östråt, you will deliver him into my hands, dead or alive! NILS LYKKE. You shall have him all alive. I, at any rate, mean not to kill him. But now you must ride back and join your people. Keep guard on the road. Should I mark aught that mislikes me, you shall know it forthwith. JENS BIELKE. Good, good. But how am I to get out——? NILS LYKKE. The fellow that brought us in will show the way. But go quietly—— JENS BIELKE. Of course, of course. Well—good fortune to you! NILS LYKKE. Fortune has never failed me in a war with women. Haste you now! [JENS BIELKE _goes out to the right._ NILS LYKKE. [_Stands still for a while; then walks about the room, looking round him; then he says softly:_] At last, then, I am at Östråt—the ancient hall whereof a child, two years ago, told me so much. Lucia. Ay, two years ago she was still a child. And now—now she is dead. [_Hums with a half-smile._] “Blossoms plucked are blossoms withered——” [_Looks round him again._ Östråt. ’Tis as though I had seen it all before; as though I were at home here.—In there is the Banquet Hall. And underneath is—the grave-vault. It must be there that Lucia lies. [_In a lower voice, half seriously, half with forced gaiety._