capital,--seize that idea firmly,--intellectual--"

"I understand," said the fool.

"You sign a policy of insurance with a company which recognizes in you
a value of a hundred thousand crowns; in you, poet--"

"I am a painter," said the lunatic.

"Yes," resumed Gaudissart,--"painter, poet, musician, statesman--and
binds itself to pay them over to your family, your heirs, if, by
reason of your death, the hopes foundered on your intellectual capital
should be overthrown for you personally. The payment of the premium is
all that is required to protect--"

"The money-box," said the lunatic, sharply interrupting him.

"Ah! naturally; yes. I see that Monsieur understands business."

"Yes," said the madman. "I established the Territorial Bank in the Rue
des Fosses-Montmartre at Paris in 1798."

"For," resumed Gaudissart, going back to his premium, "in order to
meet the payments on the intellectual capital which each man
recognizes and esteems in himself, it is of course necessary that each
should pay a certain premium, three per cent; an annual due of three
per cent. Thus, by the payment of this trifling sum, a mere nothing,
you protect your family from disastrous results at your death--"

"But I live," said the fool.