_Figaro._ Perhaps not. (_Aside._) _Count._ But in that case, what must Susan be? _Figaro._ My Wife, if you please.-- (_Figaro’s eagerness occasions him to speak aloud----The Count turns round astonished._) _Count._ My Wife, if you please!--To whom did you say my Wife, if you please? _Figaro._ To--to--to--That is--They were the last words of a sentence I was saying to one of the Servants--Go and tell so and so to--_my Wife, if you please_. _Count._ Your Wife!--Zounds, you are very fond of your Wife. _Figaro._ I love to be singular. _Count._ You have made me wait for you here a long while. _Figaro._ I have been changing my Stockings, which I dirtied in the fall. _Count._ Servants, I think, are longer dressing than their Masters. _Figaro._ Well they may--They are obliged to dress themselves. _Count._ If in sifting my Gentleman, I find him unwilling to go to France, I may conclude Susan has betrayed me. (_Aside._) _Figaro._ He has mischief in his head, but I’ll watch his motions. (_Aside._) _Count._ (_Approaches Figaro with familiarity_)--Thou knowest, Figaro, it was my intention to have taken thee with me on my Embassy to Paris, but I believe thou dost not understand French. _Figaro._ Perfectly. _Count._ Indeed!--Let’s hear.--(_Figaro pulls out his purse and jingles it_)--Is that all the French thou understandest? _Figaro._ All!--Is not that enough, think you, my Lord?--That’s a Language understood in every corner of the habitable Earth, and in no place better than in Paris.--{{“Your Philosophers, who lament the loss of an universal Language, are Fools--They always carry one in their pockets.”}} As for a knowledge of French, my Lord, I maintain, _s’il vous plait_, and a Purse are all that’s necessary--Let but the sound of Silver jingle in a Frenchman’s ears, and he will instantly understand your meaning, be it what it will.--{{“If you have a Law-suit, and wish to gain your Cause, go to the Judge, pull off your Hat, and pull out your Purse; smile, shake it, and pronounce, _s’il vous plait, Monsieur_-- _Count._ “And your Adversary is overthrown. _Figaro._ “Undoubtedly--Unless he understands French still better than you--Do you wish the _Friendship_ of a great Lord, or a great Lady, its still the same--Chink, chink, and _s’il vous plait, Monseigneur--S’il vous plait, Madame_--The French are a very witty People!--Amazingly quick of apprehension!--Therefore, my Lord, if you have no other reason than this for leaving me behind--”}} _Count._ But thou art no Politician. _Figaro._ Pardon me, my Lord, I am as great a master of Politics---- _Count._ As thou art of French.