LOU. Ah! papa, you have hurt me; I am dead! (_She feigns to be dead._) ARG. How, now! What does this mean? Louison! Louison! Ah! heaven! Louison! My child! Ah! wretched father! My poor child is dead! What have I done? Ah! villainous rod! A curse on the rod! Ah! my poor child! My dear little Louison! LOU. Come, come, dear papa; don’t weep so. I am not quite dead yet. ARG. Just see the cunning little wench. Well! I forgive you this once, but you must tell me everything. LOU. Oh yes, dear papa. ARG. Be sure you take great care, for here is my little finger that knows everything, and it will tell me if you don’t speak the truth. LOU. But, papa, you won’t tell sister that I told you. ARG. No, no. LOU. (_after having listened to see if any one can hear_). Papa, a young man came into sister’s room while I was there. ARG. Well? LOU. I asked him what he wanted; he said that he was her music-master. ARG. (_aside_). Hm! hm! I see. (_To_ LOUISON) Well? LOU. Then sister came. ARG. Well? LOU. She said to him, “Go away, go away, go. Good heavens! you will drive me to despair.” ARG. Well? LOU. But he would not go away. ARG. What did he say to her? LOU. Oh! ever so many things. ARG. But what? LOU. He told her this, and that, and the other; that he loved her dearly; that she was the most beautiful person in the world. ARG. And then, after? LOU. Then he knelt down before her. ARG. And then? LOU. Then he kept on kissing her hands. ARG. And then? LOU. Then my mamma came to the door, and, he escaped. ARG. Nothing else? LOU. No, dear papa. ARG. Here is my little finger, which says something though. (_Putting his finger up to his ear._) Wait. Stay, eh? ah! ah! Yes? oh! oh! here is my little finger, which says that there is something you saw, and which you do not tell me. LOU. Ah! papa, your little finger is a story-teller. ARG. Take care. LOU. No, don’t believe him; he tells a story, I assure you. ARG. Oh! Well, well; we will see to that. Go away now, and pay great attention to what you see. (_Alone._) Ah! children are no longer children nowadays! What trouble! I have not even enough leisure to attend to my illness. I am quite done up. (_He falls down into his chair._) SCENE XII.—BÉRALDE, ARGAN. BER. Well, brother! What is the matter? How are you? ARG. Ah! very bad, brother; very bad. BER. How is that? ARG. No one would believe how very feeble I am. BER. That’s a sad thing, indeed. ARG. I have hardly enough strength to speak. BER. I came here, brother, to propose a match for my niece, Angélique. ARG. (_in a rage, speaking with great fury, and starting up from his chair_). Brother, don’t speak to me of that wicked, good-for-nothing, insolent, brazen-faced girl. I will put her in a convent before two days are over.