Alas! Why, before he went, did he not tell Rosina of his giving her letter to the doctor. Alas! Why did this necessity escape the attention of the all-seeing Figaro? They both departed—the barber flippantly, the professor profoundly. And neither thought of the forgetfulness up to the time when they were both fixing a ladder against the locked up balcony.
Meanwhile, little Rosina had been converted into a little tigress.
For not an hour had the count and barber been gone, when Don Basilio had persuaded himself his line of profitable conduct was to come creeping back after a little more money. This time he knew not a purse full, for the doctor was old and his purse low. He came in with his low bow.
“Noble doctor, do you know who this Alonzo was?”
“No, no; sent by the count, perhaps.”
“It was the count himself. Some scheme is sure afoot.”
“Good; and I’ll scheme too. Now, haste, Basilio, to the notary, and bid him come. This very night I’ll marry her.”
“But, noble doctor; fetch the notary! And it rains in torrents. Again, most noble doctor, the notary is engaged; this very night the barber Figaro gives his niece in marriage.”
“The barber Figaro has no niece! Another plot—another plot. Now, go, and call the notary! Go—go—go! Here, take the street door key, and go—go—go!”
Then he cried out for Rosina; and that young beauty appearing, he very quickly turned her into a young tigress.