like the discounts I get
at my Territorial Bank, Rue des Fosses-Montmartre."

"You are quite right, Monsieur," answered Gaudissart; "but that sort of
thing is taken and retaken, made and remade, every day. You have also
hypothecating banks which lend upon landed property and redeem it on
a large scale. But that is a narrow idea compared to our system of
consolidating hopes,--consolidating hopes! coagulating, so to speak,
the aspirations born in every soul, and insuring the realization of
our dreams. It needed our epoch, Monsieur, the epoch of
transition--transition and progress--"

"Yes, progress," muttered the lunatic, with his glass at his lips. "I
like progress. That is what I've told them many times--"

"The 'Times'!" cried Gaudissart, who did not catch the whole sentence.
"The 'Times' is a bad newspaper. If you read that, I am sorry for you."

"The newspaper!" cried Margaritis. "Of course! Wife! wife! where is the
newspaper?" he cried, going towards the next room.

"If you are interested in newspapers," said Gaudissart, changing his
attack, "we are sure to understand each other."

"Yes; but before we say anything about that, tell me what you think of
this wine."

"Delicious!"

"Then let us finish the bottle." The lunatic poured out a thimbleful
for himself and filled Gaudissart's glass. "Well, Monsieur, I have two
puncheons left of the same wine; if you find it good we can come to
terms."

"Exactly," said Gaudissart. "The fathers of the Saint-Simonian faith
have authorized me to send them all the commodities I--But allow me to
tell you about their noble newspaper. You, who have understood the whole
question of insurance so thoroughly, and who are willing to assist my
work in this district--"

"Yes," said Margaritis, "if--"

"If I take your wine; I understand perfectly. Your wine is very good,
Monsieur; it puts the stomach in a glow."

"They make champagne out of it; there is a man from Paris who comes here
and makes it in Tours."

"I have no doubt of it, Monsieur. The 'Globe,' of which we were
speaking--"

"Yes, I've gone over it," said Margaritis.

"I was sure of it!" exclaimed Gaudissart. "Monsieur, you have a fine
frontal development; a pate--excuse the word--which our gentlemen call
'horse-head.' There's a horse element in the head of every great man.
Genius will make itself known; but sometimes it happens that great men,
in spite of their gifts, remain obscure. Such was very nearly the cas