_Bartolo_ [_laughing_]--Calumny, eh? My dear fellow, I see very well now that you come from Basilio. But lest we should seem to have planned this together, don't you think it would be better if she'd met you before? _Count_ [_repressing a start of joy_]--Don Basilio thought so, I know. But how can we manage it? It is late already. There's not much time left. _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. _Bartolo_--But, my child, do listen! It is Señor Alonzo, the friend and pupil of Don Basilio, whom he has chosen as one of our marriage witnesses. I'm sure that music will calm you. _Rosina_--Oh! you needn't concern yourself about that; and as for singing this evening--Where is this master you're so afraid of dismissing? I'll settle him in a minute--and Señor Basilio too. [_She sees her lover and exclaims_:] Ah! _Bartolo_--Eh, eh, what is the matter? _Rosina_ [_pressing her hands to her heart_]--Ah, sir! Ah, sir! _Bartolo_--She is ill again! Señor Alonzo! _Rosina_--No, I am not ill--but as I was turning--ah! _Count_--Did you sprain your foot, Madame? _Rosina_--Yes, yes, I sprained my foot! I--hurt myself dreadfully. _Count_--So I perceived. _Rosina_ [_looking at the Count_]--The pain really makes me feel faint. _Bartolo_--A chair--a chair there! And not a single chair here! [_He goes to get one_.] _Count_--Ah, Rosina! _Rosina_--What imprudence! _Count_--There are a hundred things I must say to you. _Rosina_--He won't leave us alone. _Count_--Figaro will help us.