Gregorius Jonsson.
I tremble to hear the sound of my own words; know then
[He seizes the King's arm and whispers.
Håkon.
[Starts backwards with a cry.] Ha, are you distraught? Gregorius Jonsson. Would to God I were. Håkon. Unheard of! No, it cannot be true! Gregorius Jonsson. By Christ's dear blood, so is it! Håkon. Go, go; sound the trumpet-call for my guard; get all my men under arms. [Gregorius Jonsson goes.
Håkon.
[Paces the room once or twice, then goes quickly up to the door of Margrete's chamber, knocks at it, takes one or two more turns through the room, then goes again to the door, knocks, and calls.] Margrete! [Goes on pacing up and down.
Margrete.
[In the doorway, attired for the night, with her hair down; she has a red cloak round her shoulders, holding it close together over her breast.] Håkon! Is it you?
