Countess. It is Susan, I suppose, putting the chairs and tables to rights.
Count. What! Your favourite woman turned house-maid! You told me just now she was in her own room.
Countess. In her room, or my room, it is all one.
Count. Really, my Lady, this Susan of yours is a very nimble, convenient kind of person.
Countess. Really, my Lord, this Susan of mine disturbs your quiet very much.
Count. Very true, my Lady, so much that I am determined to see her.
Countess. These suspicions are very much to your credit, my Lord.
Count. If they are not to your discredit, my Lady, it is very easy to remove them—But I see you mean to trifle with me (he goes to the Countess’s dressing-room door, and calls) Susan! Susan! If Susan you are, come forth!
Countess. Very well, my Lord! Very well! Would you have the girl come out half undressed? She is trying on one of my left off dresses—To disturb female privacy, in this manner, my Lord, is certainly very unprecedented.
(During the warmth of this dispute, Susan comes from her own room, perceives what is passing, and after listening long enough to know how to act, slips, unseen by both, behind the curtains of the bed which stands in the Alcove.)