MRS. JOUR. It's admirable!
MR. JOUR. What would you say then if you had seen o, and da, da, and fa, fa?
MRS. JOUR. What is all this absurd stuff?
NIC. And what are we the better for all this?
MR. JOUR. I have no patience with such ignorant women.
MRS. JOUR. Believe me, pack off all those people with their ridiculous fooleries.
NIC. And particularly that great scraggy fencing master, who fills the whole place with dust.
MR. JOUR. Goodness me! The fencing master seems to set your teeth on edge. Come here, and I will show you at once your senseless impertinence. (He asks for two foils, and gives one to NICOLE.) Here, reason demonstrative the line of the body. When you thrust in quart, you have only to do so; and, when you thrust in tierce, only to do so! That is the way never to be killed; and is it not a fine thing to be quite safe when one fights against anybody? There, thrust at me a little to try.
NIC. Well, what? (NICOLE gives him several thrusts)
MR. JOUR. Gently! Hold! Oh! Softly. Deuce take the wench!