Antonio. Well, since it was you, as I am an honest man, I ought to return you this Paper which drop’d out of your pocket as you fell.
Count. (Snatches the paper. The Countess, Figaro, and Susan are all surprised and embarrassed. Figaro shakes himself, and endeavours to recover his fortitude.) Ay, since it was you, you doubtless can tell what this Paper contains (claps the paper behind his back as he faces Figaro) and how it happened to come in your Pocket?
Figaro. Oh, my Lord, I have such quantities of Papers (searches his pockets, pulls out a great many) No, it is not this!—Hem!—This is a double Love-letter from Marcelina, in seven pages—Hem!—Hem!—It would do a man’s heart good to read it—Hem!—And this is a petition from the poor Poacher in prison. I never presented it to your Lordship, because I know you have affairs much more serious on your hands, than the Complaints of such half-starved Rascals—Ah!—Hem!—this—this—no, this is an Inventory of your Lordship’s Sword-knots, Ruffs, Ruffles, and Roses—must take care of this—(Endeavours to gain time, and keeps glancing and hemming to Susan and the Countess, to look at the paper and give him a hint.)
Count. It is neither this, nor this, nor that, nor t’other, that you have in your hand, but what I hold here in mine, that I want to know the contents of. (Holds out the paper in action as he speaks, the Countess who stands next him catches a sight of it.)
Countess. ’Tis the Commission. (Aside to Susan.)
Susan. The Page’s Commission. (Aside to Figaro.)
Count. Well, Sir!—So you know nothing of the matter?
Antonio. (Reels round to Figaro) My Lord says you—know nothing of the matter.
Figaro. Keep off, and don’t come to whisper me. (pretending to recollect himself.) Oh Lord! Lord! What a stupid fool I am!—I declare it is the Commission of that poor youth, Hannibal—which I, like a Blockhead, forgot to return him—He will be quite unhappy about it, poor Boy.