eme of policies and premiums. We
offer annuities at rates graduated according to ages, on a sliding-scale
infinitely more advantageous than what are called tontines, which are
based on tables of mortality that are notoriously false. Our company
deals with large masses of men; consequently the annuitants are
secure from those distressing fears which sadden old age,--too sad
already!--fears which pursue those who receive annuities from private
sources. You see, Monsieur, that we have estimated life under all its
aspects."

"Sucked it at both ends," said the lunatic. "Take another glass of wine.
You've earned it. You must line your inside with velvet if you are going
to pump at it like that every day. Monsieur, the wine of Vouvray, if
well kept, is downright velvet."

"Now, what do you think of it all?" said Gaudissart, emptying his glass.

"It is very fine, very new, very useful; but I 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