t ahead brought more attraction to my eye than the
indication of the perfume-factory to my nose. But there would still be
time for the street, and in the acquisition of knowledge one must not
falter. I knew only that perfumes were made from flowers. But so was
honey! What was the difference in the process? Visiting perfumeries is
evidently "the thing to do" in Grasse. For I was greeted cordially, and
given immediately a guide, who assured me that she would show me all over
the place and that it was no trouble at all.

Why is it that some of the most delicate things are associated with the
pig, who is himself far from delicate? However much we may shudder at
the thought of soused pigs' feet and salt pork and Rocky Mountain fried
ham swimming in grease, we find bacon the most appetizing of breakfast
dishes, and if cold boiled ham is cut thin enough nothing is more dainty
for sandwiches. Lard _per se_ is unpleasant, but think of certain things
cooked in lard, and the unrivaled golden brown of them! Pigskin is as
_recherche_ as snakeskin. The pig greets us at the beginning of the day
when we slip our wallet into our coat or fasten on our wrist-watch, and
again when we go in to breakfast. But is it known that he is responsible
for the most exquisite of scents of milady's boudoir? For hundreds of
years ways of extracting the odor of flowers were tried. Success never
came until someone discovered that pig fat is the best absorbent of the
bouquet of fresh flowers.

Room after room in the perfume factory is filled with tubs of pig grease.
Fresh flowers are laid inside every morning for weeks, the end of the
treatment coming only with the end of the season of the particular flower
in question. In some cases it is continued for three months. The grease
is then boiled in alcohol. The liquid, strained, is your scent. The
solid substance left makes scented soap. Immediately after cooling, it
is drawn off directly into wee bottles, the glass stoppers are covered
with white chamois skin, and the labels pasted on.

I noticed a table of bottles labeled _eau-de-cologne_. "Surely this is
now _eau-de-liege_ in France," I remarked. "Are not German names taboo?"

My guide answered seriously: "We have tried our best here and in every
perfumery in France. But dealers tell us that they cannot sell
_eau-de-liege_, even though they assure their customers that it is
exactly the same product, and explain the patriotic reason f