_Figaro._ Oh yes, to be sure, the Page has gallop’d back from Seville, Horse and all, to leap out of the window! _Antonio._ No, no, my Lord! I saw no such thing! I’ll take my oath I saw no horse leap out of the window. _Figaro._ Come, come, let us prepare for our sports. _Antonio._ Well, since it was you, as I am an honest man, I ought to return you this Paper which drop’d out of your pocket as you fell. _Count._ (_Snatches the paper. The Countess, Figaro, and Susan are all surprised and embarrassed. Figaro shakes himself, and endeavours to recover his fortitude._) Ay, since it was you, you doubtless can tell what this Paper contains (_claps the paper behind his back as he faces Figaro_) and how it happened to come in your Pocket? _Figaro._ Oh, my Lord, I have such quantities of Papers (_searches his pockets, pulls out a great many_) No, it is not this!--Hem!--This is a double Love-letter from Marcelina, in seven pages--Hem!--Hem!--It would do a man’s heart good to read it--Hem!--And this is a petition from the poor Poacher in prison. I never presented it to your Lordship, because I know you have affairs much more serious on your hands, than the Complaints of such half-starved Rascals--Ah!--Hem!--this--this--no, this is an Inventory of your Lordship’s Sword-knots, Ruffs, Ruffles, and Roses--must take care of this--(_Endeavours to gain time, and keeps glancing and hemming to Susan and the Countess, to look at the paper and give him a hint._) _Count._ It is neither this, nor this, nor that, nor t’other, that you have in your hand, but what I hold here in mine, that I want to know the contents of. (_Holds out the paper in action as he speaks, the Countess who stands next him catches a sight of it._) _Countess._ ’Tis the Commission. (_Aside to Susan._) _Susan._ The Page’s Commission. (_Aside to Figaro._) _Count._ Well, Sir!--So you know nothing of the matter? _Antonio._ (_Reels round to Figaro_) My Lord says you--know nothing of the matter. _Figaro._ Keep off, and don’t come to whisper me. (_pretending to recollect himself._) Oh Lord! Lord! What a stupid fool I am!--I declare it is the Commission of that poor youth, Hannibal--which I, like a Blockhead, forgot to return him--He will be quite unhappy about it, poor Boy. _Count._ And how came you by it? _Figaro._ By it, my Lord? _Count._ Why did he give it you? _Figaro._ To--to--to---- _Count._ To what? _Figaro._ To get-- _Count._ To get what? It wants nothing! _Countess._ (_to Susan_) It wants the Seal. _Susan._ (_to Figaro_) It wants the Seal. _Figaro._ Oh, my Lord, what it wants to be sure is a mere trifle. _Count._ What trifle? _Figaro._ You know, my Lord, it’s customary to-- _Count._ To what? _Figaro._ To affix your Lordship’s Seal. _Count._ (_Looks at the Commission, finds the Seal is wanting, and exclaims with vexation and disappointment_) The Devil and his Imps!--It is written, Count, thou shalt be a Dupe!--Where is this Marcelina? [_Going._