SCA. I don't know if such is his intention, but he won't consent to give the two hundred pistoles you asked; he says it's too much.
SIL. S'death! s'blood! If I can but find him, I'll make mince-meat of him, were I to be broken alive on the wheel afterwards.
(ARGANTE hides, trembling, behind SCAPIN.)
SCA. Sir, the father of Octave is a brave man, and perhaps he will not be afraid of you.
SIL. Ah! will he not? S'blood! s'death! If he were here, I would in a moment run my sword through his body. (Seeing ARGANTE.) Who is that man?
SCA. He's not the man, Sir; he's not the man.
SIL. Is he one of his friends?
SCA. No, Sir; on the contrary, he's his greatest enemy.
SIL. His greatest enemy?
SCA. Yes.