Orgon goes
on, "Think of the husband . . ." and stops before the middle of his
sentence to turn and catch the beginning of Dorine's gesture; but he
is too quick this time, and Dorine stands looking at his furious
countenance with a sweet and gentle expression. He turns and goes on,
and the obstinate Dorine again lifts her hand behind his shoulder to
urge Mariane to resistance: this time he catches her; but just as he
swings his shoulder to give her the promised blow, she stops him by
changing the intent of her gesture, and carefully picking from the top
of his sleeve a bit of fluff which she holds carefully between her
fingers, then blows into the air, and watches intently as it floats
away. Orgon is paralysed by her innocence of expression, and compelled
to hide his rage.--Regnier, /Le Tartuffe des Comediens/.]
ORGON
Daughter, you must approve of my design. . . .
Think of this husband . . . I have chosen for you. . .
(To Dorine)
Why don't you talk to yourself?
DORINE
Nothing to say.
ORGON
One little word more.
DORINE
Oh, no, thanks. Not now.
ORGON
Sure, I'd have caught you.
DORINE
Faith, I'm no such fool.
ORGON
So, daughter, now obedience is the word;
You must accept my choice with reverence.
DORINE (running away)
You'd never catch me marrying such a creature.
ORGON (swinging his hand at her and missing her)
Daughter, you've such a pestilent hussy there
I can't live with her longer, without sin.
I can't discuss things in the state I'm in.
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