Susan. No indeed, my Lord—I thought, my Lord, I say—
Count. Prithee say no more, my sweet Susan, but promise thou wilt meet me this evening, at twilight, by the Pavilion in the garden; and be certain, that if thou wilt but grant me this small favour, nothing thou canst ask shall—
Basil. (without.) He is not in his own room.
Count. Heavens! Here’s somebody coming! Where can I hide! Is there no place here?
(The Count runs to get behind the great chair, Susan keeps between him and the Page, who steals away as the Count advances, leaps into the great chair, with his legs doubled under him, and is covered over with the Countess’s gown, by Susan.)
Enter BASIL.
Basil. Ah, Susan, Good morrow—Is my lord the Count here?
Susan. Here! What should he be here for?
Basil. Nay, there would be no miracle in it if he were: would there, hey gentle Susan? (Smiles and leers at her.)