common wine, nor a wine that can be drunk with the
entremets. It is too generous, too strong. It is often sold in Paris
adulterated with brandy and called Madeira. The wine-merchants buy it
up, when our vintage has not been good enough for the Dutch and Belgian
markets, to mix it with wines grown in the neighborhood of Paris, and
call it Bordeaux. But what you are drinking just now, my good Monsieur,
is a wine for kings, the pure Head of Vouvray,--that's it's name. I
have two puncheons, only two puncheons of it left. People who like fine
wines, high-class wines, who furnish their table with qualities that
can't be bought in the regular trade,--and there are many persons in
Paris who have that vanity,--well, such people send direct to us for
this wine. Do you know any one who--?"

"Let us go on with what we were saying," interposed Gaudissart.

"We are going on," said the fool. "My wine is capital; you are capital,
capitalist, intellectual capital, capital wine,--all the same etymology,
don't you see? hein? Capital, 'caput,' head, Head of Vouvray, that's my
wine,--it's all one thing."

"So that you have realized your intellectual capital through your wines?
Ah, I see!" said Gaudissart.

"I have realized," said the lunatic. "Would you like to buy my
puncheons? you shall have them on good terms."

"No, I was merely speaking," said the illustrious Gaudissart, "of the
results of insurance and the employment of intellectual capital. I will
resume my argument."

The lunatic calmed down, and fell once more into position.

"I remarked, Monsieur, that if you die the capital will be paid to your
family without discussion."

"Without discussion?"

"Yes, unless there were suicide."

"That's quibbling."

"No, Monsieur; you are aware that suicide is one of those acts which are
easy to prove--"

"In France," said the fool; "but--"

"But in other countries?" said Gaudissart. "Well, Monsieur, to cut
short discussion on this point, I will say, once for all, that death in
foreign countries or on the field of battle is outside of our--"

"Then what are you insuring? Nothing at all!" cried Margaritis. "My
bank, my Territorial Bank, rested upon--"

"Nothing at all?" exclaimed Gaudissart, interrupting the good-man.
"Nothing at all? What do you call sickness, and afflictions, and
poverty, and passions? Don't go off on exceptional points."

"No, no! no points," said the lunatic.

"Now, what's the result of all this?" cried