Countess--Will you listen to me one minute?
Count--Who is in that room?
Countess--Your page.
Count--Cherubino! The little scoundrel!--just let me catch him! I don't wonder you were so agitated.
Countess--I--I assure you we were only planning an innocent joke.
[The Count snatches the key, and goes to the dressing-room door; the Countess throws herself at his feet.]
Countess--Have mercy, Count! Spare this poor child; and although the disorder in which you will find him--
Count--What, Madame? What do you mean? What disorder?
Countess--He was just changing his coat--his neck and arms are bare--
[The Countess throws herself into a chair and turns away her head.]