NIC. What mistress says is quite right. There is no longer any chance
of having the house clean with all that heap of people you bring in.
Their feet seem to have gone purposely to pick up the mud in the four
quarters of the town in order to bring it in here afterwards; and poor
Francoise is almost off her legs with the constant scrubbing of the
floors, which your masters come and dirty every day as regular as
clockwork.

MR. JOUR. I say there, our servant Nicole; you have a pretty sharp
tongue of your own for a country wench.

MRS. JOUR. Nicole is right, and she has more sense by far than you
have. I should like to know, for instance, what you mean to do with a
dancing master at your age?

NIC. And with that big fencing master, who comes here stamping enough
to shake the whole house down and to tear up the floor tiles of our
rooms.

MR. JOUR. Gently, my servant and my wife.

MRS. JOUR. Do you mean to learn dancing for the time when you can't
stand on your legs any longer?

NIC. Do you intend to kill anybody?

MR. JOUR. Hold your tongues, I say. You are only ignorant women, both
of you, and understand nothing concerning the prerogative of all this.

MRS. JOUR. You would do much better to think of seeing your daughter