ngerous that it
requires infinite skill to tackle it.

Well, when my husband appeared, shaven, I understood at once that I
never could fall in love with a strolling actor nor a preacher, even if
it were Father Didon, the most charming of all! Later when I was alone
with him (my husband) it was worse still. Oh, my dear Lucy, never let
yourself be kissed by a man without a mustache; their kisses have no
flavor, none whatever! They no longer have the charm, the mellowness and
the snap--yes, the snap--of a real kiss. The mustache is the spice.

Imagine placing to your lips a piece of dry--or moist--parchment. That
is the kiss of the man without a mustache. It is not worth while.

Whence comes this charm of the mustache, will you tell me? Do I know
myself? It tickles your face, you feel it approaching your mouth and it
sends a little shiver through you down to the tips of your toes.

And on your neck! Have you ever felt a mustache on your neck? It
intoxicates you, makes you feel creepy, goes to the tips of your
fingers. You wriggle, shake your shoulders, toss back your head. You
wish to get away and at the same time to remain there; it is delightful,
but irritating. But how good it is!

A lip without a mustache is like a body without clothing; and one must
wear clothes, very few, if you like, but still some clothing.

I recall a sentence (uttered by a politician) which has been running in
my mind for three months. My husband, who keeps up with the newspapers,
read me one evening a very singular speech by our Minister of
Agriculture, who was called M. Meline. He may have been superseded by
this time. I do not know.

I was paying no attention, but the name Meline struck me. It recalled, I
do not exactly know why, the 'Scenes de la vie de boheme'. I thought it
was about some grisette. That shows how scraps of the speech entered my
mind. This M. Meline was making this statement to the people of Amiens,
I believe, and I have ever since been trying to understand what he
meant: "There is no patriotism without agriculture!" Well, I have just
discovered his meaning, and I affirm in my turn that there is no love
without a mustache. When you say it that way it sounds comical, does it
not?

There is no love without a mustache!

"There is no patriotism without agriculture," said M. Meline, and he was
right, that minister; I now understand why.

From a very different point of view the mustache is essential. It gives
character