[Seating himself again on the sofa.] I firmly believe it. I am immovably convinced--I know that they will come. If I had not been certain of that I would have put a bullet through my head long ago. FOLDAL. [Anxiously.] Oh no, for Heaven's sake----! BORKMAN. [Exultantly.] But they will come! They will come sure enough! You shall see! I expect them any day, any moment. And you see, I hold myself in readiness to receive them. FOLDAL. [With a sigh.] If only they would come quickly. BORKMAN. [Restlessly.] Yes, time flies: the years slip away; life---- Ah, no--I dare not think of it! [Looking at him.] Do you know what I sometimes feel like? FOLDAL. What? BORKMAN. I feel like a Napoleon who has been maimed in his first battle. FOLDAL. [Placing his hand upon his portfolio.] I have that feeling too. BORKMAN. Oh, well, that is on a smaller scale, of course. FOLDAL. [Quietly.] My little world of poetry is very precious to me, John Gabriel. BORKMAN. [Vehemently.] Yes, but think of me, who could have created millions! All the mines I should have controlled! New veins innumerable! And the water-falls! And the quarries! And the trade routes, and the steamship-lines all the wide world over! I would have organised it all--I alone! FOLDAL. Yes, I know, I know. There was nothing in the world you would have shrunk from. BORKMAN. [Clenching his hands together.] And now I have to sit here, like a wounded eagle, and look on while others pass me in the