M. Robert. Undoubtedly.

Sganarelle. It is not for you to order me about.

M. Robert. Just so.

Sganarelle. I do not want your help.

M. Robert. Exactly so.

Sganarelle. And it is like your impertinence to meddle with other people’s business. Remember that Cicero says that between the tree and the finger you should not put the bark. (He drives him away, then comes back to his wife, and says to her, squeezing her hand:)

Scene III.—Sganarelle, Martine.

Sganarelle. Come, let us make it up. Shake hands.

Martine. Yes, after having beaten me thus!

Sganarelle. Never mind that. Shake hands.

Martine. I will not.

Sganarelle. Eh?

Martine. No.

Sganarelle. Come, wife!

Martine. I shall not.

Sganarelle. Come, I tell you.

Martine. I will do nothing of the kind.

Sganarelle. Come, come, come.

Martine. No; I will be angry.

Sganarelle. Bah! it is a trifle. Do.

Martine. Leave me alone.

Sganarelle. Shake hands, I tell you.

Martine. You have treated me too ill.

Sganarelle. Well! I beg your pardon; put your hand there.

Martine. I forgive you (aside, softly); but I shall make you pay for it.

Sganarelle. You are silly to take notice of it; these are trifles that are necessary now and then to keep up good feeling; and five or six strokes of a cudgel between people who love each other, only brighten the affections. There now! I am going to the wood, and I promise you that you shall have more than a hundred faggots to-day.