MRS. BORKMAN.
  [Standing behind the bench.] So the night air has killed him——

ELLA RENTHEIM.
  So it appears.

MRS. BORKMAN.
  ——strong man that he was.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
  [Coming in front of the bench.] Will you not look at him,
Gunhild?

MRS. BORKMAN. [With a gesture of repulsion.] No, no, no. [Lowering her voice.] He was a miner's son, John Gabriel Borkman. He could not live in the fresh air.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
  It was rather the cold that killed him.

MRS. BORKMAN. [Shakes her head.] The cold, you say? The cold—that had killed him long ago.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
  [Nodding to her.] Yes—and changed us two into shadows.

MRS. BORKMAN.
  You are right there.

ELLA RENTHEIM. [With a painful smile.] A dead man and two shadows—that is what the cold has made of us.

MRS. BORKMAN. Yes, the coldness of heart.—And now I think we two may hold out our hands to each other, Ella.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
  I think we may, now.

MRS. BORKMAN.
  We twin sisters—over him we have both loved.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
  We two shadows—over the dead man.

    [MRS. BORKMAN behind the bench, and ELLA RENTHEIM in front
        of it, take each other's hand.