Page. Ye—yes—Madam.
Countess. (Observing the Page’s heart so full that he is ready to burst into tears) ’Tis that good-for-nothing Figaro who has frightened the child with his prognostics.
Page. (Unable to contain himself any longer) N-o-o-o indee-ee-eed, Madam, I-I-am o-on-only-gri-ieved to part from-so dear a-La-a-ady.
Countess. (Takes out her handkerchief and wipes his eyes) Nay, but don’t weep, don’t weep—Come, come, be comforted. (A knocking is heard at the Countess’s chamber door) Who’s there? (In an authoritative tone.)
The Count speaks without.
Count. Open the door, my Lady.
Countess. Heavens! It is the Count!—I am ruined!—If he finds the Page here after receiving Figaro’s anonymous Letter I shall be for ever lost!—What imprudence!
Count. (Without) Why don’t you open the door?
Countess. Because——I’m alone.
Count. Alone! Who are you talking to then!