Countess [with surprise, unrolling the ribbon]—­There’s blood on it!

Cherubino—­Yes, I was tightening the curb of my horse this morning, he curvetted and gave me a push with his head, and the bridle stud grazed my arm.

Countess—­I never saw a ribbon used as a bandage before.

Susanna—­Especially a stolen ribbon.  What may all those things be—­the curb, the curvetting, the bridle stud? [Glances at his arms.] What white arms he has! just like a woman’s.  Madame, they are whiter than mine.

Countess—­Never mind that, but run and find me some oiled silk.

[Susanna goes out, after humorously pushing Cherubino over so that he falls forward on his hands.  He and the Countess look at each other for some time; then she breaks the silence.]

Countess—­I hope you are plucky enough.  Don’t show yourself before the Count again to-day.  We’ll tell him to hurry up your commission in his regiment.

Cherubino—­I already have it, Madame.  Basilio brought it to me. [He draws the commission from his pocket and hands it to her.]

Countess—­Already!  They haven’t lost any time. [She opens it.] Oh, in their hurry they’ve forgotten to add the seal to it.

Susanna [returning with the oiled silk]—­Seal what?

Countess—­His commission in the regiment.

Susanna—­Already?

Countess—­That’s what I said.

Susanna—­And the bandage?

Countess—­Oh, when you are getting my things, take a ribbon from one of your caps. [Susanna goes out again]

Countess—­This ribbon is of my favorite color.  I must tell you I was greatly displeased at your taking it.

Cherubino—­That one would heal me quickest.

Countess—­And—­why so?

Cherubino—­When a ribbon—­has pressed the head, and—­touched the skin of one—­

Countess [hastily]—­Very strange—­then it can cure wounds?  I never heard that before.  I shall certainly try it on the first wound of any of—­my maids—­

Cherubino [sadly]—­I must go away from here!

Countess—­But not for always? [Cherubino begins to weep.] And now you are crying!  At that prediction of Figaro?

Cherubino—­I’m just where he said I’d be. [Some one knocks on the door].

Countess—­Who can be knocking like that?

The Count [outside]—­Open the door!

Countess—­Heavens!  It’s my husband.  Where can you hide?

The Count [outside]—­Open the door, I say.

Countess—­There’s no one here, you see.

The Count—­But who are you talking to then?

Countess—­To you, I suppose. [To Cherubino.] Hide yourself, quick—­in the dressing-room!