Brendel. Pardon, madame—what sort of an idiot is he?
Rosmer. Why do you make up your mind he is an idiot?
Brendel. Do you suppose I can't tell, from the sound of the name, that it belongs to a plebeian?
Kroll. I did not expect that answer.
Brendel. But I will conquer my prejudices. There is nothing else for it. When a man stands at a turning-point in his life—as I do—. That is settled. I shall, put myself into communication with this person—commence direct negotiations.
Rosmer. Are you in earnest when you say you are standing at a turning-point in your life?
Brendel. Does my own boy not know that wherever Ulrik Brendel stands he is always in earnest about it? Look here, I mean to become a new man now—to emerge from the cloak of reserve in which I have hitherto shrouded myself.
Rosmer. In what way?
Brendel. I mean to take an active part in life—to step forward—to look higher. The atmosphere we breathe is heavy with storms. I want now to offer my mite upon the altar of emancipation.
Kroll. You too?