Count [aside]—­Well, I’ve caught myself now in my own trap.  Now what shall I do about the letter?  If I were to run off?—­but then I might just as well not have come.  Shall I show it to him?  If I could only warn Rosina beforehand!  To show it would be a master-stroke.

Bartolo [returning on tiptoe]—­She’s sitting by the window with her back to the door, and re-reading a cousin’s letter which I opened.  Now, now—­let me see hers.

Count [handing him Rosina’s letter]—­Here it is. [Aside.] She’s re-reading my letter.

Bartolo [reads quickly]—­“Since you have told me your name and estate—­” Ah, the little traitress!  Yes, it’s her writing.

Count [frightened]—­Speak low yourself, won’t you?

Bartolo—­What for, if you please?

Count—­When we’ve finished, you can do as you choose.  But after all, Don Basilio’s negotiation with a lawyer—­

Bartolo—­With a lawyer?  About my marriage?

Count—­Would I have stopped you for anything else?  He told me to say that all can be ready to-morrow.  Then, if she resists—­

Bartolo—­She will.

Count [wants to take back the letter; Bartolo clutches it]—­I’ll tell you what we’ll do.  We will show her her letter; and then, if necessary, [more mysteriously] I’ll even tell her that it was given to me by a woman—­to whom the Count is sacrificing her.  Shame and rage may bring her to terms on the spot.

Bartolo [laughing]—­Calumny, eh?  My dear fellow, I see very well now that you come from Basilio.  But lest we should seem to have planned this together, don’t you think it would be better if she’d met you before?

Count [repressing a start of joy]—­Don Basilio thought so, I know.  But how can we manage it?  It is late already.  There’s not much time left.

Bartolo—­I will tell her you’ve come in his place.  Couldn’t you give her a lesson?

Count—­I’ll do anything you like.  But take care she doesn’t suspect.  All these dodges of pretended masters are rather old and theatrical.

Bartolo—­She won’t suspect if I introduce you.  But how you do look!  You’ve much more the air of a disguised lover than of a zealous student-friend.

Count—­Really?  Don’t you think I can hoodwink her all the better for that?

Bartolo—­She’ll never guess.  She’s in a horrible temper this evening.  But if she’ll only see you—­Her harpsichord is in this room.  Amuse yourself while you’re waiting.  I’ll do all I can to bring her here.

Count—­Don’t say a word about the letter.

Bartolo—­Before the right moment?  It would lose all effect if I did.  It’s not necessary to tell me things twice; it’s not necessary to tell me things twice. [He goes.]