Bartholo—“A miserable author had promised me one, but at the instant of pronouncing it, he sent us word to serve ourselves elsewhere.”
Mlle. Luzzi—“I am in the secret, he is annoyed that you suppressed in his piece his air of spring.”
Bartholo—“What air of spring? What piece?”
Mlle. Luzzi—“The little air of Rosine in the Barbier de Séville.”
Bartholo—“That was well done, the public does not want any one to sing at the Comédie-Française.”
Mlle. Luzzi—“Yes, Doctor, in tragedies; but when did it wish that a gay subject should be deprived of what might increase its agreeableness? Believe me, gentlemen, Monsieur le Public likes anything which amuses him.”
Bartholo—“More than that is it our fault if Rosine lost courage?”
Mlle. Luzzi—“Is it pretty, the song?”
Le Comte—“Will you try it?”
Figaro—“In a corner under your breath.”