Count [secretly slipping a purse into his hands]--Yes: he wants to know what you are doing here, when you are so far from well?
Figaro--He's as pale as a ghost!
Basilio--Ah! I understand.
Count--Go to bed, dear Basilio. You are not at all well, and you make us all anxious. Go to bed.
Figaro--He looks quite upset. Go to bed.
Bartolo--I'm sure he seems feverish. Go to bed.
Rosina--Why did you come out? They say that it's catching. Go to bed.
Basilio [in the greatest amazement]--I'm to go to bed!
All the others together--Yes, you must.
Basilio [looking at them all]--Indeed, I think I will have to withdraw. I don't feel quite as well as usual.