Susan. Not that I heard, Madam.
Count. Let the gentle sentence then escape.
Countess. And do you merit it, ungrateful man? (with tenderness.)
Count. (Looking at Susan, who returns his look) Certainly, my Lady.
Countess. A fine example I set you, Susan! (The Count takes her hand and kisses it.) Who, hereafter, will dread a Woman’s anger?
(Countess turns her head towards Susan, and laughs as she says this.)
Susan. (In the same tone) Yes, yes, Madam—I observe——Men may well accuse us of frailty.
Count. And yet I cannot, for the soul of me, forget the agony, Rosina, in which you seemed to be just now! Your cries, your tears, your——How was it possible, this being a Fiction, you should so suddenly give it the tragic tone of a Reality?—Ha! ha! ha!—So astonishingly natural!
Countess. You see your Page, and I dare say your Lordship was not sorry for the mistake—I’m sure the sight of Susan does not give you offence.