GREEN. Poo-ah! There’s nothing like a cigar for puffing away fear—poo-ah! I feel a deal more composed now—poo-ah!—cooler and more determined—poo-ah! I’ve been bracing up my courage by repeating that heroic maxim—“The brave man dies many times—a coward never dies at all.” Stay—I don’t believe I’ve got it right—but it don’t matter. (stumbles over the trunk) What’s here? umph! a trunk! Bless me! surely I know it: that brown leather is familiar to me. Hah! here’s the owner’s address on a card. (drops on his knees to examine it, and reads in a tone of intense alarm) “Mrs. Greenfinch, Passenger.” O—a—ah! That’s her writing—and she’s here!
Enter MRS. GREENFINCH, R.; GREENFINCH’S head sinks on the trunk.
MRS. G. Que faites vous ici, mon cher Grinfeench?
GREEN. Oh! Countess, we’re lost.
MRS. G. Ha! perdu! Ave de poliss come?
GREEN. No, but my wife has. See here! (reads address on trunk) “Mrs. Greenfinch, Passenger to Paris.” That’s her writing after six lessons. (in a suppressed voice) I know she’s somewhere in the vicinity of this brown leather trunk.
MRS. G. (coolly) Eh bien! you know that a man can have but one wife at one time.
GREEN. The law in its wisdom and great mercy says so.
MRS. G. Justement—I am it.
GREEN. You? Oh, yes, Countess—I beg pardon, Mrs. Greenfinch pro tempore; but as the original Mrs. G. has turned up unexpectedly, what am I to do?