Håkon.
[With a cry.] My mother!
Margrete.
[Springs up.] Inga!
Håkon.
[Rushes to the door and opens it; Inga is sitting on the doorstep.] My mother! Sitting like a dog outside her son's door! And I ask why God has stricken me!
Inga.
[Stretches out her arms towards him.] Håkon, my child! Blessings upon you!
Håkon.
[Raising her up.] Come—come in; here are light and warmth!
Inga.
<g>May</g> I come in to you?
Håkon.
Never shall we part again.
Inga.
My son—my King—oh, but you are good and loving! I stood in a corner and saw you, as you came from the Bishop's Palace; you looked so sorrowful; I <g>could</g> not part from you thus.
Håkon.
God be thanked for that! No one, truly, could have come to me more welcome than you Margrete—my mother—I have sorely sinned; I have barred my heart against you two, who are so rich in love.
