The last of Lubitsch's silent sex comedies is exuberant, fanciful and teasingly elliptical at the same time. Since Paris is synonymous with sophistication and risqué romance, he deliberately cultivates the mood for love with an opening shot of a bed, subverting audience expectations of the obligatory Eiffel Tower. With equal subtlety, he gives his stock and trade subject of marital infidelities inventive treatment, wittily satirising "sheik fever" and other sex-oriented fads in the erotic masquerades between a doctor, his wife, his old flame and her husband. Unlike many Hollywood contemporaries, where sexual innuendoes serve only as evasions and euphemisms, in this film, they are bold announcements of the real thing.