Count [alone, soliloquizes]—­At last I’ve won!  Ouf!  What a difficult little old imp he is!  Figaro understands him.  I found myself lying, and that made me awkward; and he has eyes for everything!  On my honor, if the letter hadn’t inspired me he’d have thought me a fool!—­Ah, how they are disputing in there!—­What if she refuses to come?  Listen—­If she won’t, my coming is all thrown away.  There she is:  I won’t show myself at first.

[Rosina enters.]

Rosina [angrily]—­There’s no use talking about it, sir.  I’ve made up my mind.  I don’t want to hear anything more about music.

Bartolo—­But, my child, do listen!  It is Senor Alonzo, the friend and pupil of Don Basilio, whom he has chosen as one of our marriage witnesses.  I’m sure that music will calm you.

Rosina—­Oh! you needn’t concern yourself about that; and as for singing this evening—­Where is this master you’re so afraid of dismissing?  I’ll settle him in a minute—­and Senor Basilio too. [She sees her lover and exclaims:] Ah!

Bartolo—­Eh, eh, what is the matter?

Rosina [pressing her hands to her heart]—­Ah, sir!  Ah, sir!

Bartolo—­She is ill again!  Senor Alonzo!

Rosina—­No, I am not ill—­but as I was turning—­ah!

Count—­Did you sprain your foot, Madame?

Rosina—­Yes, yes, I sprained my foot!  I—­hurt myself dreadfully.

Count—­So I perceived.

Rosina [looking at the Count]—­The pain really makes me feel faint.

Bartolo—­A chair—­a chair there!  And not a single chair here! [He goes to get one.]

Count—­Ah, Rosina!

Rosina—­What imprudence!

Count—­There are a hundred things I must say to you.

Rosina—­He won’t leave us alone.

Count—­Figaro will help us.

Bartolo [bringing an arm-chair]—­Wait a minute, my child.  Sit down here.  She can’t take a lesson this evening, Senor:  you must postpone it.  Good-by.

Rosina [to the Count]—­No, wait; my pain is better. [To Bartolo.] I feel that I’ve acted foolishly!  I’ll imitate you, and atone at once by taking my lesson.

Bartolo—­Oh!  Such a kind little woman at heart!  But after so much excitement, my child, I can’t let you make any exertion.  So good-bye, Senor, good-bye.

Rosina [to the Count]—­Do wait a minute! [To Bartolo.] I shall think that you don’t care to please me if you won’t let me show my regret by taking my lesson.

Count [aside to Bartolo]—­I wouldn’t oppose her, if I were you.

Bartolo—­That settles it, my love:  I am so anxious to please you that I shall stay here all the time you are practicing.