ELLA RENTHEIM.
Yes, this winter air is too keen for you; I can see that, John.
So come—come in with me—into the house, into the warmth.
BORKMAN.
[Angrily.] Up to the gallery again, I suppose.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
No, rather into the room below.
BORKMAN. [His anger flaming forth.] Never will I set foot under that roof again!
ELLA RENTHEIM.
Where will you go then? So late, and in the dark, John?
BORKMAN. [Putting on his hat.] First of all, I will go out and see to all my buried treasures.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[Looking anxiously at him.] John—I don't understand you.
BORKMAN. [With laughter, interrupted by coughing.] Oh, it is not hidden plunder I mean; don't be afraid of that, Ella. [Stopping, and pointing outwards.] Do you see that man there? Who is it?
[VILHELM FOLDAL, in an old cape, covered with snow, with his hat-brim turned down, and a large umbrella in his hand, advances towards the corner of the house, laboriously stumbling through the snow. He is noticeably lame in his left foot.
BORKMAN.
Vilhelm! What do you want with me again?