Bartolo--I will tell her you've come in his place. Couldn't you give her a lesson?
Count--I'll do anything you like. But take care she doesn't suspect. All these dodges of pretended masters are rather old and theatrical.
Bartolo--She won't suspect if I introduce you. But how you do look! You've much more the air of a disguised lover than of a zealous student-friend.
Count--Really? Don't you think I can hoodwink her all the better for that?
Bartolo--She'll never guess. She's in a horrible temper this evening. But if she'll only see you--Her harpsichord is in this room. Amuse yourself while you're waiting. I'll do all I can to bring her here.
Count--Don't say a word about the letter.
Bartolo--Before the right moment? It would lose all effect if I did. It's not necessary to tell me things twice; it's not necessary to tell me things twice. [He goes.]
Count [alone, soliloquizes]--At last I've won! Ouf! What a difficult little old imp he is! Figaro understands him. I found myself lying, and that made me awkward; and he has eyes for everything! On my honor, if the letter hadn't inspired me he'd have thought me a fool!--Ah, how they are disputing in there!--What if she refuses to come? Listen--If she won't, my coming is all thrown away. There she is: I won't show myself at first.
[Rosina enters.]
Rosina [angrily]--There's no use talking about it, sir. I've made up my mind. I don't want to hear anything more about music.