Erhart.
[With an outburst.] Oh, say rather what you have consecrated my life to. You, you have been my will. You have never given me leave to have any of my own. But now I cannot bear this yoke any longer. I am young; remember that, mother. [With a polite, considerate glance towards Borkman.] I cannot consecrate my life to making atonement for another—whoever that other may be.
Mrs. Borkman.
[Seized with a growing anxiety.] Who is it that has transformed you, Erhart?
Erhart.
[Struck.] Who? Can you not conceive that it is I myself?
Mrs. Borkman.
No, no, no! You have come under some strange power. You are not in your mother's power any longer; nor in your—your foster-mother's either.
Erhart.
[With laboured defiance.] I am in my own power, mother! And working my own will!
Borkman.
[Advancing towards Erhart.] Then perhaps my hour has come at last.
