[BENGT ushers in GUDMUND ALFSON, through the pent-house
passage at the back.
BENGT.
And now once more--welcome under Solhoug's roof, my wife's kinsman.
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?
BENGT.
Well, believe it or not as you list, but it seems to me that
Margit was merrier of heart in the days of her poverty, than since
she became the lady of Solhoug.
GUDMUND.
[To himself.] I knew it; so it must be.
BENGT.
What say you, kinsman?
GUDMUND.
I say that I wonder greatly at what you tell me of your wife.
BENGT.
Aye, you may be sure I wonder at it too. On the faith and troth
of an honest gentleman, 'tis beyond me to guess what more she can
desire. I am about her all day long; and no one can say of me
that I rule her harshly. All the cares of household and husbandry
I have taken on myself; yet notwithstanding-- Well, well, you
were ever a merry heart; I doubt not you will bring sunshine with
you.
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