Count--What, you knew about it?
Countess--This rattlepate Figaro, without my sanction--
Count--He did it, eh! and Basilio pretended that a peasant brought it. Crafty wag, ready to impose on everybody!
Countess--You beg pardon, but you never grant pardon. If I grant it, it shall only be on condition of a general amnesty.
Count--Well, then, so be it. I agree. But I don't understand how your sex can adapt itself to circumstances so quickly and so nicely. You were certainly much agitated; and for that matter, you are yet.
Countess--Men aren't sharp enough to distinguish between honest indignation at unjust suspicion, and the confusion of guilt.
Count--We men think we know something of politics, but we are only children. Madame, the King ought to name you his ambassador to London.--And now pray forget this unfortunate business, so humiliating for me.
Countess--For us both.
Count--Won't you tell me again that you forgive me?
Countess--Have I said that, Susanna?