n
the hearth. Then he rose, ran to the woodbox, from which he dragged two
enormous logs with great difficulty, when you came to him with begging
lips, murmuring:

"Kiss me!" He turned his head with difficulty and tried to hold up the
logs at the same time. Then you gently and slowly placed your mouth on
that of the poor fellow, who remained with his neck out of joint, his
sides twisted, his arms almost dropping off, trembling with fatigue and
tired from his desperate effort. And you kept drawing out this torturing
kiss, without seeing or understanding. Then when you freed him, you
began to grumble: "How badly you kiss!" No wonder!

Oh, take care of that! We all have this foolish habit, this unconscious
need of choosing the most inconvenient moments. When he is carrying a
glass of water, when he is putting on his shoes, when he is tying his
scarf--in short, when he finds himself in any uncomfortable position
--then is the time which we choose for a caress which makes him stop
for a whole minute in the middle of a gesture with the sole desire of
getting rid of us!

Do not think that this criticism is insignificant. Love, my dear, is a
delicate thing. The least little thing offends it; know that everything
depends on the tact of our caresses. An ill-placed kiss may do any
amount of harm.

Try following my advice.

Your old aunt,
COLLETTE.

This story appeared in the Gaulois in November, 1882, under the
pseudonym of "Maufrigneuse."

THE LEGION OF HONOR

HOW HE GOT THE LEGION OF HONOR

From the time some people begin to talk they seem to have an
overmastering desire or vocation.

Ever since he was a child, M. Caillard had only had one idea in his head
--to wear the ribbon of an order. When he was still quite a small boy
he used to wear a zinc cross of the Legion of Honor pinned on his tunic,
just as other children wear a soldier's cap, and he took his mother's
hand in the street with a proud air, sticking out his little chest with
its red ribbon and metal star so that it might show to advantage.

His studies were not a success, and he failed in his examination for
Bachelor of Arts; so, not knowing what to do, he married a pretty girl,
as he had plenty of money of his own.

They lived in Paris, as many rich middle-class people do, mixing with
their own particular set, and proud of knowing a deputy, who might
perhaps be a minister some day, and counting two