over, as I am your mother's guest,you will not deny me the flower-spray you wear in your bosom. So long as it is fresh and fragrant, I shall have in it an image of yourself.
Elina.
[Proudly, but still gazing at him.] Pardon me, Sir Knight'twas plucked in my own chamber, and there can grow no flower for you.
Nils Lykke.
[Loosening a spray of flowers that he wears in the front of his doublet.] At least you will not disdain this humble gift. 'Twas a farewell token from a courtly dame when I set forth from Trondhiem this morning.But mark me, noble maiden,were I to offer you a gift that were fully worthy of you, it could be nought less than a princely crown.
Elina.
[Who has taken the flowers passively.] And were it the royal crown of Denmark you held forth to mebefore I shared it with you, I would crush it to pieces between my hands, and cast the fragments at your feet!
[Throws down the flowers at his feet, and goes into the Banquet Hall.
Olaf Skaktavl.
[Mutters to himself.] Boldas Inger Ottis-daughter by Knut Alfson's bier!
