_Countess._ Shut the door--And so the Page was hid behind the great chair? _Susan._ Yes, Madam. _Countess._ But how did he happen to be in your room, Susan? _Susan._ The poor Boy came to beg I would prevail on you to obtain his pardon of my Lord the Count. _Countess._ But why did not he come to me himself? I should not have refused him a favor of that kind. _Susan._ Bashfulness, Madam. _Ah Susan!_ said he, _she is a Divinity! How noble is her Manner! Her very smiles are awful._ _Countess._ (_Smiling_) Is that true, Susan? _Susan._ Can you doubt it, Madam? _Countess._ I have always afforded him my protection. _Susan._ Had you, Madam, but seen him snatch the ribband from me! _Countess._ (_Rising_) Pshaw! Enough of this nonsense--And so my Lord the Count endeavours to seduce you, Susan? _Susan._ Oh, no indeed, Madam, he does not give himself the trouble to seduce; he endeavours to purchase me: and because I refuse him will certainly prevent my marriage with Figaro, and support the pretensions of Marcelina. _Countess._ Fear nothing--We shall have need, however, of a little artifice perhaps; in the execution of which Figaro’s assistance may not be amiss. _Susan._ He will be here, Madam, as soon as my Lord is gone a coursing. _Countess._ Your Lord is an ungrateful man, Susan!--An ungrateful man! (_The Countess walks up and down the room with some emotion_) Open the window; I am stifled for want of air--Vows, protestations and tenderness are all forgotten--My Love offends, my Caresses disgust--He thinks his own Infidelities must all be overlook’d, yet my Conduct must be irreproachable. _Susan_ (_At the window looking into the street_). Yonder goes my Lord with all his Grooms and Greyhounds. _Countess._ To _divert_ himself with hunting a poor timid harmless Hare to death--This, however, will give us time--Somebody knocks, Susan. {{_Susan._ “For Figaro’s the lad, is the lad for me.”}} (_Goes singing to the Door._) _Enter_ FIGARO. (_He kisses Susan’s hand, she makes signs to him to be more prudent, and points to the Countess._) _Countess._ Well, Figaro, you have heard of my Lord the Count’s designs on your young Bride. _Figaro._ Oh yes, my Lady. There was nothing very surprising in the news. My Lord sees a sweet, young, lovely--Angel! (_Susan curtsies_) and wishes to have her for himself. Can any thing be more natural? I wish the very same-- _Countess._ I don’t find it so very pleasant, Figaro. _Figaro._ He endeavours to overturn the schemes of those who oppose his wishes; and in this he only follows the example of the rest of the world. I endeavour to do the very same. _Susan._ But with less probability of success, Figaro. _Figaro._ Follow my advice, and I’ll convince you of your mistake. _Countess._ Let me hear. _Figaro._ You, my lovely Susan, must appoint the Count to meet him, as he proposed, this evening, by the Pavilion in the Garden.