[he sits down] there is a certain coarse fun in the idea which
compels me to smile [he turns up his moustache and smiles.]

ERMYNTRUDE. When I marry the Inca's son, Captain, I shall make
the Inca order you to cut off that moustache. It is too
irresistible. Doesn't it fascinate everyone in Perusalem?

THE INCA [leaning forward to her energetically]. By all the
thunders of Thor, madam, it fascinates the whole world.

ERMYNTRUDE. What I like about you, Captain Duval, is your
modesty.

THE INCA [straightening up suddenly]. Woman, do not be a fool.

ERMYNTRUDE [indignant]. Well!

THE INCA. You must look facts in the face. This moustache is an
exact copy of the Inca's moustache. Well, does the world occupy
itself with the Inca's moustache or does it not? Does it ever
occupy itself with anything else? If that is the truth, does its
recognition constitute the Inca a coxcomb? Other potentates have
moustaches: even beards and moustaches. Does the world occupy
itself with those beards and moustaches? Do the hawkers in the
streets of every capital on the civilized globe sell ingenious
cardboard representations of their faces on which, at the pulling
of a simple string, the moustaches turn up and down, so--[he
makes his moustache turn, up and down several times]? No! I say
No. The Inca's moustache is so watched and studied that it has
made his face the political barometer of the whole continent.