_Count._ (_Furiously_) So this is our Dressing-room Gentleman, at last! I shall know all at least, now--(_Figaro kisses her hand again._) Oh Rage! Oh Hell! _Susan._ How delightfully he swears. _Figaro._ (_Figaro and Susan still inwardly laughing_) Quickly then, Madam, let us repair the wrong which Love this Morning suffered at the impertinent intrusion of your Lord. _Count._ This is not to be borne. (_Darts between them, seizes Figaro by the Collar, while Susan escapes into the Pavilion on the left._) _Figaro_ (_Pretends amazement_) My Lord! _Count._ How! Rascal! And is it you!--Hollo--Hollo--Who hears? _Enter blundering in the dark, and in a great hurry, the COURIER, who had been to Seville after the Page._ _Courier._ Here!--Here!--Here am I, my Lord! Just arrived from Seville! But he is not there! I might as well have sought for this Page in my pocket! Here is the Packet again. _Count._ Stand out of the way, Rascal----Hollo!--Where are my People? Lights! Lights! _Courier._ What’s my Lord afraid of? Is there not Mr. Figaro and I? _Enter Flambeaux, Don_ GUZMAN, _Dr._ BARTHOLO, ANTONIO, BASIL, _and Servants_. _Count._ (_To the Servants_) Guard that Door and some of you seize this Fellow. _Figaro._ You command, with absolute Authority, over all present, my Lord, except yourself. {{_Count._ “The Villain’s impenetrable, cool Impudence is intolerable. _Figaro._ “We are not Soldiers, that we should kill one another without Malice: for my part, I like to know why I am angry.”}} _Count._ Be pleased, Sir, to declare, before this Company, who the--the--Woman is that just now ran into that Pavilion. _Figaro._ Into that--(_Going to cross to the Pavilion on the right._) _Count._ (_Stopping him_) No, prevaricating Fiend; into that. (_Pointing to the other._) _Figaro._ Ah! That alters the Case. _Count._ Answer, or-- {{_Figaro._ “The Lady that escaped into that Pavilion? _Count._ “Ay, Demon, the Lady.”}} _Figaro._ The Lady {{“that escaped into that Pavilion,”}} is a young Lady to whom my Lord once paid his Addresses, but who, happening to love me more than my Betters, has this day yielded me the Preference. _Count._ The Preference!--The Preference!--he does not lie at least.----Yes, Gentlemen, what he confesses, I pledge my Honour I just have heard from the very mouth of his Accomplice! _Guzman._ His Accomplice! _Count._ Come forth, Madam! (_Enters the Pavilion._) _Basil._ Which of these two has made a--Gentleman of the other. _Figaro._ Perhaps neither. _Count._ (_In the Pavilion._) Come forth, I say, shew yourself. (_Enter, dragging out the_ PAGE, _still speaking, and not looking at him till he gets on a line with the rest of the Company_.) Happily, Madam, there is no Pledge of a Union, now so justly detested.---- _Omnes._ The Page! _Guzman._ (_After all the rest._) The Pa-a-age!