Countess. Let me go. (In a feigned voice.)
Page. Come, Come; don’t be so coy. I know it is not Figaro you are waiting for, it is my Lord the Count—What! Did not I hear, this Morning, when I was behind the great Chair?
Susan. (Aside). The babbling little Villain.
Enter the COUNT behind, and hears the Page.
Count. Is not that somebody with Susan?—(Advances close up to them, and draws back in a fury).—’Tis that infernal Page again.
(Susan keeps out of the way and silently laughing.)
Page. ’Tis in vain to say no:—Since thou art going to be the Representative of the Countess, I am determined to give the one kiss for thyself, and a hundred for thy beauteous Lady.
Susan. (Aside). “As impudent as a Page, says the Proverb.”
(The Countess draws back to avoid being kissed by the Page, and the Count advances and presents himself in her place; the Page feels the rough beard of the Count, and suddenly retreats, crying in an under voice)—Oh, the Devil!—The Count again!
(Exit Page into the Pavilion on the left.)