BORKMAN. [Eagerly, changing the subject.] But what in all the world can have brought on this illness? You, who have always lived such a healthy and regular life? What can have brought it on?
ELLA RENTHEIM. [Looking at him.] The doctors thought that perhaps at one time in my life I had had to go through some great stress of emotion.
BORKMAN. [Firing up.] Emotion! Aha, I understand! You mean that it is my fault?
ELLA RENTHEIM. [With increasing inward agitation.] It is too late to go into that matter now! But I must have my heart's own child again before I go! It is so unspeakably sad for me to think that I must go away from all that is called life—away from sun, and light, and air—and not leave behind me one single human being who will think of me—who will remember me lovingly and mournfully—as a son remembers and thinks of the mother he has lost.
BORKMAN.
[After a short pause.] Take him, Ella, if you can win him.
ELLA RENTHEIM.
[With animation.] Do you give your consent? Can you?
BORKMAN. [Gloomily.] Yes. And it is no great sacrifice either. For in any case he is not mine.
ELLA RENTHEIM. Thank you, thank you all the same for the sacrifice! But I have one thing more to beg of you—a great thing for me, Borkman.
BORKMAN.
Well, what is it?
ELLA RENTHEIM. I daresay you will think it childish of me—you will not understand——