Tartuffe. But if you look upon my addresses with a favourable eye, why refuse me convincing proofs?

Elmire. How can I comply with what you wish, without offending that Heaven of which you are always speaking?

Tartuffe. If it be nothing but Heaven that opposes itself to my wishes, it is a trifle for me to remove such an obstacle; and that need be no restraint upon your love.

Elmire. But they frighten us so much with the judgments of Heaven!

Tartuffe. I can dispel these ridiculous fears for you, Madam, and I possess the art of allaying scruples. Heaven, it is true, forbids certain gratifications, but there are ways and means of compounding such matters. According to our different wants, there is a science which loosens that which binds our conscience, and which rectifies the evil of the act with the purity of our intentions. We shall be able to initiate you into these secrets, Madam; you have only to be led by me. Satisfy my desires, and have no fear; I shall be answerable for everything, and shall take the sin upon myself. (Elmire coughs louder.) You cough very much, Madam?

Elmire. Yes, I am much tormented.

Tartuffe. Would you like a piece of this liquorice?

Elmire. It is an obstinate cold, no doubt; and I know that all the liquorice in the world will do it no good.

Tartuffe. That, certainly, is very sad.

Elmire. Yes, more than I can say.

Tartuffe. In short, your scruples, Madam, are easily overcome. You may be sure of the secret being kept, and there is no harm done unless the thing is bruited about. The scandal which it causes constitutes the offence, and sinning in secret is no sinning at all.

Elmire (after having coughed once more). In short, I see that I must make up my mind to yield; that I must consent to grant you everything; and that with less than that, I ought not to pretend to satisfy you, or to be believed. It is no doubt very hard to go to that length, and it is greatly in spite of myself that I venture thus far; but, since people persist in driving me to this; since they will not credit aught I may say, and wish for more convincing proofs, I can but resolve to act thus, and satisfy them. If this gratification offends, so much the worse for those who force me to it: the fault ought surely not to be mine.

Tartuffe. Yes, Madam, I take it upon myself; and the thing in itself …

Elmire. Open this door a little, and see, pray, if my husband be not in that gallery.

Tartuffe. What need is there to take so much thought about him? Between ourselves, he is easily led by the nose. He is likely to glorify in all our interviews, and I have brought him so far that he will see everything, and without believing anything.

Elmire. It matters not. Go, pray, for a moment and look carefully everywhere outside.

Scene VI.—Orgon, Elmire.

Orgon (coming from under the table). This is, I admit to you, an abominable wretch! I cannot recover myself, and all this perfectly stuns me.

Elmire. What, you come out so soon! You are surely jesting. Get under the table-cloth again; it is not time yet. Stay to the end, to be quite sure of the thing, and do not trust at all to mere conjectures.