Mariane. I may say the same thing. It is an unforeseen meeting which surprises me as much as it does you; and I was not at all prepared for such an adventure.

Cléante. It is true that my father, Madam, could not make a better choice, and that the honour of seeing you gives me unfeigned joy, but for all that, I cannot give you the assurance that I rejoice at the design which you may have of becoming my stepmother. I avow to you that it would be too much for me to pay you that compliment; and by your leave, it is a title which I do not wish you. This speech may become coarse to some; but I am sure that you will be the one to take it in the proper sense; that it is a marriage, Madam, for which, as you may well imagine, I can have only repugnance; that you are not unaware, knowing what I am, how it clashes with my interests; and that, in short, you will not take it amiss when I tell you, with the permission of my father, that, if matters depended upon me, this marriage would not take place.

Harpagon. This is a most impertinent compliment! What a pretty confession to make to her!

Mariane. And I, in reply, must tell you, that things are pretty equal; and that, if you have any repugnance in seeing me your step-mother, I shall have, doubtless, no less in seeing you my step-son. Do not think, I pray you, that it is I who seek to give you that uneasiness. I should be very sorry to cause you any displeasure; and unless I see myself compelled to it by an absolute power, I give you my word that I shall not consent to a marriage that vexes you.

Harpagon. She is right. To a silly compliment, a similar retort is necessary. I beg your pardon, my dear, for the impertinence of my son; he is a young fool, who does not as yet know the consequences of what he says.

Mariane. I promise you that what he has said has not at all offended me; on the contrary, he has pleased me by explaining thus his real feelings. I like such an avowal from his lips; and if he had spoken in any other way, I should have esteemed him the less for it.

Harpagon. It is too good of you to be willing thus to condone his faults. Time will make him wiser, and you shall see that he will alter his sentiments.

Cléante. No, father, I am incapable of changing upon that point, and I beg urgently of this lady to believe me.

Harpagon. But see what madness! he goes still more strongly.

Cléante. Do you wish me to go against my own heart?

Harpagon. Again! Perhaps you will be kind enough to change the conversation.

Cléante. Well! since you wish to speak in a different manner, allow me, Madam, to put myself in my father’s place, and to confess to you that I have seen nothing in the world so charming as you; that I conceive nothing equal to the happiness of pleasing you, and that the title of your husband is a glory, a felicity which I would prefer to the destinies of the greatest princes on earth. Yes, Madam, the happiness of possessing you is, in my eyes, the best of all good fortunes; the whole of my ambition points to that. There is nothing which I would shrink from to make so precious a conquest; and the most powerful obstacles …

Harpagon. Gently, son, if you please.

Cléante. It is a compliment which I pay for you to this lady.

Harpagon. Good Heavens! I have a tongue to explain myself, and I have no need of an interpreter like you. Come, hand chairs.