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."