“Oh!  My trunk!” cried Miss Ingate.

Beneath a pile of other trunks on an incoming truck she had espied her property.  Audrey saw it, too.  The vision was magical.  The trunk seemed like a piece of home, a bit of Moze and of England.  It drew affection from them as though it had been an animal.  They sped towards it, forgetting their small baggage.  Their porteur leaped over the counter from behind and made signs for a key.  All Audrey’s trunks in turn joined Miss Ingate’s; none was missing.  And finally an official, small and fierce, responded to the invocations of the porteur and established himself at the counter in front of them.  He put his hand on Miss Ingate’s trunk.

“Op-en,” he said in English.

Miss Ingate opened her purse, and indicated to the official by signs that she had no key for the trunk, and she also cried loudly, so that he should comprehend: 

“No key! ...  Lost!”

Then she looked awkwardly at Audrey.

“I’ve been told they only want to open one trunk when there’s a lot.  Let him choose another one,” she murmured archly.

But the official merely walked away, to deal with the trunks of somebody else close by.

Audrey was cross.

“Miss Ingate,” she said formally, “you had the key when we started, because you showed it to me.  You can’t possibly have lost it.”

“No,” answered Winnie calmly and knowingly.  “I haven’t lost it.  But I’m not going to have the things in my trunk thrown about for all these foreigners to see.  It’s simply disgraceful.  They ought to have women officials and private rooms at these places.  And they would have, if women had the vote.  Let him open one of your trunks.  All your things are new.”

The porteur had meanwhile been discharging French into Audrey’s other ear.

“Of course you must open it, Winnie,” said she.  “Don’t be so absurd!” There was a persuasive lightness in her voice, but there was also command.  For a moment she was the perfect widow.

“I’d rather not.”

“The porteur says we shall be here all night,” Audrey persisted.

“Do you know French?”

“I learnt French at school, Winnie,” said the perfect widow.  “I can’t understand every word, but I can make out the drift.”  And Audrey went on translating the porter according to her own wisdom.  “He says there have been dreadful scenes here before, when people have refused to open their trunks, and the police have had to be called in.  He says the man won’t upset the things in your trunk at all.”

Miss Ingate gazed into the distance, and privately smiled.  Audrey had never guessed that in Miss Ingate were such depths of obstinate stupidity.  She felt quite distinctly that her understanding of human nature was increasing.

“Oh!  Look!” said Miss Ingate casually.  “I’m sure those must be real Parisians!” Her offhandedness, her inability to realise the situation, were exasperating to the young widow.  Audrey glanced where Miss Ingate had pointed, and saw in the doorway of the custom-house two women and a lad, all cloaked but all obviously in radiant fancy dress, laughing together.