Fred. (holding up the gown?) What?
Gern. A pocket-book!
Fred. Put it down. All shall go. I will keep nothing.
Gern. What paper is that, that sticks out there?
Fred. Take it.
Gern. (Pulls out a note.) That is not your brother's hand.
Fred. I have not yet seen that pocket-book.
Gern. Oh, very likely! (Reads.) "These dresses are destined to envelope the angel I adore; accept them as a small token of my sincere affections. Selling."--Take, for my last adieu, contempt, thou faithless perfidious girl! (Throws the pocket-book at her feet, and flies off.)
Fred. Gernau!