But, in spite of plates and dishes, the time of a town barber was not to be wasted; so Figaro, flourishing his instruments of torture about, the doctor sat down, and the barber was preparing to dash at him, brush in hand, when his arm remained suspended in the air; for Marplot, in the shape of Don Basilio, stood in the doorway! For an instant the barber was disconcerted, but recovering his presence of mind, he prepared to assault the doctor. But the latter, struggling to his feet, called out, “Basilio! ’tis Basilio!” Don Basilio made a lean bow, taking off his shovel hat with his long fingers. “Good day to you; good day to all.” As for the young people at the piano, they could only wonder what could come next. “And pray, Basilio, how are you?” asked the doctor, earnestly. “How am I; as well as ever.” “Excuse me Senor, but that confounded beard of yours; a town barber cannot wait all day!” “Yes, yes; directly. And the lawyer, Don Basilio?” “The lawyer?” The professor of music deserted his post and fled up to the doctor. “Of the affair, Senor, of the letter, recollect he nothing knows.” The barber turned to Don Basilio, who was elevating his eyebrows, and all the wrinkles in his forehead, wondering what all this might mean. “Oh heavens, Don Basilio, this is fever.” Said Figaro, “Yes, I swear it by my post; You’re as chalky as a ghost. Fever! ghost! Don Basilio--go to bed, ’Tis the fever called the red.” The professor of music made that “chink, chink” chorus already alluded to; and when he performed it he was standing near the barber. Thereupon said Figaro, still in his quality of surgeon, and still to Don Basilio. “And as you’ll want a nurse, Let me recommend--this purse; Yes; you are very bad indeed, In such cases one must--bleed.” The music-master, the barber, and the young lady too, were all _so_ interested in Don Basilio’s health, and they did so crowd about him, that the doctor could neither put in a word nor get near his friend, whose fingers went twisting about, trying to discover the most profitable line of conduct to pursue. At last:-- “Good day to all--with all my heart, I make my bow, and so depart.” The town barber was immediately himself again with his implements. He turned even his handsome body to account; for he made of it a screen, and so hid the piano and the two young people from the doctor’s green eyes. “Do, re, me, fa.” “We have the keys of the balcony; at midnight be you there.” “Yes; Sol, la, si, do-o-o-o-o.” “Now pray don’t forget the hour.” “No. D-o-o-o-o, si, la, sol-l-l-l.” “At twelve you will be mine.” “Yes. Fa-a-a, me, re, d-o-o-o-o.” “And now you trust yourself to me Rosi--.”