Olof. The sad thing is that they do not know it themselves, and
if I were to tell you--

Gustaf. Speak out!

[Gert enters quickly, pretending to be insane.]

Gustaf. Who are you to dare intrude here?

Gert. I want most humbly to beseech Your Highness to attest the
correctness of this document.

Gustaf. Wait till you are called.

Gert. Of course, I should like to, but the guards won't wait for
me. I escaped from prison, you see, because my place wasn't
there.

Gustaf. Are you one of those Anabaptists?

Gert. Yes, I happened to get mixed up with them, but here I have
a certificate proving that I belong to the asylum, the third
department for incurables, cell number seven.

Gustaf (to Olof). Send word to the guard.

Gert. That isn't necessary, for I want nothing but justice, and
it's something the guard doesn't handle.