MRS. JOUR. To the son of the Grand Turk?
MR. JOUR. (_showing_ COVIELLE). Yes; ask the interpreter to
present your compliments to him from you.
MRS. JOUR. I have no need of an interpreter, and I can tell him myself
easily to his face that he shall not have my daughter.
MR. JOUR. Will you be silent? I ask once more.
DOR. What! Mrs. Jourdain, you oppose yourself to such an honour as
this? You refuse his Turkish highness for a son-in-law?
MRS. JOUR. Good gracious, Sir! Mind your own business, if you please.
DORI. It is an honour by no means to be rejected.
MRS. JOUR. I pray you also not to trouble yourself with that which is
no concern of yours.
DOR. It is the friendship we have for you which makes us interest
ourselves in your welfare.
MRS. JOUR. I can do very well without your friendship.
DOR. You see that your daughter yields to her father's will.
MRS. JOUR. My daughter consents to marry a Turk?
DOR. Certainly.
MRS. JOUR. She can forget Cleonte?
DOR. What will not one do to be a grand lady?
MRS. JOUR. I would strangle her with my own hands if she had done such
a thing.
MR. JOUR. Too much prating by half! I tell you the marriage shall take
place.
MRS. JOUR. And I tell you that it shan't.
MR. JOUR. Ah! what a row!
LUC. Mother!
MRS. JOUR. Leave me alone, you are a bad girl.
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