The Baron (Herbert Marshall) and the Countess (Miriam Hopkins), share a romantic supper in his swanky hotel in Venice. But they soon they tumble each other as fellow con artists. After they have returned the trinkets they lifted from each other, they move to Paris as a duo and steal a diamond covered handbag from a rich perfumer (Kay Francis).
Marshall finagles a job as the tycoon's secretary and develops romantic feelings for her while embezzling a fortune from the company. But Hopkins wants him for herself. It's a love triangle, except two of the lovers are kleptomaniacs trying to gyp the third, and each other.
Marshall is very much at home in Ernst Lubitsch's Paris. But it's Hopkins film, in a performance that goes a long way to establishing a female archetype of the screwball comedy, with her mix of the ditzy, impulsive and volatile.
The dialogue is charming and witty and the farce is adorable. But it's also a comedy of manners which refers to Trotsky and the wages of the poor. Surprising and imaginative at every twist this is the last word on the sophisticated comedy which was Lubitsch's gift, set in the romantic destinations of Europe, places of irony, charade and repartee. And scandal.