Countess. To confess the truth, Figaro, your project exactly corresponds with the one I meant to practise—An anonymous Letter must be sent, informing him, that a Gallant, meaning to profit by his neglect—
Figaro. And absence—is at present with his beauteous Countess——The thing is already done, Madam.
Countess. How!—Have you dared to trifle thus with a Woman of Honor?
Figaro. Oh, Madam, it is only with a Woman of Honor I should presume to take a liberty like this; least my Joke should happen to prove a Reality.
Countess (Smiles). You don’t want an agreeable excuse, Figaro.
Figaro. The hour of performing the marriage Ceremony will arrive post haste—he will be disconcerted, and having no good excuse ready, will never venture in your presence, Madam, to oppose our union.
Susan. But if he will not, Marcelina will; and thou wilt be condemned to pay—
Figaro. Poh! Thou hast forgot the Count is our Judge!—And, after being entrapp’d at the rendezvous, will he condemn us, thinkest thou?—But come, come, we must be quick—I’ll send the Page hither to be dress’d—We must not lose a moment.
(Exit Figaro.