Mariane. But am I, by a flat refusal and a scornful disdain, to let everyone know how much I am smitten? However brilliant Valère may be, am I to forget the modesty of my sex, and my filial duty? And would you have me display my passion to the whole world …

Dorine. No, I would have you do nothing of the sort. I perceive that you would like to be M. Tartuffe’s; and I should be wrong, now that I come to thing of it, to turn you from such a union. What right have I to oppose your wishes? The match in itself is very advantageous. Monsieur Tartuffe! oh, oh! That is not a proposal to be despised. Certainly Monsieur Tartuffe, all things considered, is no fool; no, not at all, and it is no small honour to be his better half. Already everyone crowns him with glory. He is a noble in his own country, handsome in appearance; he has red ears and a florid complexion. You will live only too happily with such a husband.

Mariane. Good gracious! …

Dorine. How joyful you will be to see yourself the wife of such a handsome husband!

Mariane. Ah! leave off such talk, I pray, and rather assist me to free myself from this match. It is finished: I yield, and am ready to do anything.

Dorine. No, a daughter ought to obey her father, even if he wishes her to marry an ape. Yours is an enviable fate: of what do you complain? You will drive down in the stage-coach to his native town, where you will find plenty of uncles and cousins, whom it will be your great delight to entertain. You will be introduced directly into the best society. You will go and pay the first visits to the wife of the bailie, and of the assessor, who will do you the honour of giving you a folding-chair. There, at carnival time, you may expect a ball, with the grand band of musicians, to wit, two bagpipes, and sometimes Fagotin and the marionettes. If your husband, however …

Mariane. Oh! you kill me. Try rather to assist me with your counsels.

Dorine. I am your servant.

Mariane. Ah! for pity’s sake, Dorine …

Dorine. This affair ought to go on, to punish you.

Mariane. There’s a good girl!

Dorine. No.

Mariane. If I declare to you that …

Dorine. Not at all. Tartuffe is the man for you, and you shall have a taste of him.

Mariane. You know that I have always confided in you: do …

Dorine. No, it is of no use, you shall be Tartuffed.

Mariane. Very well, since my misfortunes cannot move you, leave me henceforth entirely to my despair. My heart shall seek help from that; and I know an infallible remedy for my sufferings. (She wishes to go.)

Dorine. Stop, stop, come back. I give in. In spite of all, I must take compassion on you.

Mariane. Look here, Dorine, if they inflict this cruel martyrdom upon me, I shall die of it, I tell you.

Dorine. Do not fret yourself. We will cleverly prevent. … But here comes Valère, your lover.