“I believe so,” said the madman. “The head of Vouvray, you see.”
“Well, and you perfectly understand the working of the Intellectual Capital Insurance?”
“Perfectly.”
“You have realized the vast proportions of the Globe?”
“Twice—on foot.”
Gaudissart did not heed him; he was entangled in the maze of his own thoughts, and listening to his own words, assured of success.
“Well, seeing the position you hold, I can understand that at your age you have nothing to insure. But, monsieur, you can persuade those persons in this district to insure who, either by their personal merits or by the precarious position of their families, may be anxious to provide for the future. And so, if you will subscribe to the Globe, and if you will give me the support of your authority in this district to invite the investment of capital in annuities—for annuities are popular in the provinces—well, we may come to an agreement as to the purchase of the two casks of wine.—Will you take in the Globe?”
“I live on the globe.”
“Will you support me with the influential residents in the district?”
“I support—”
“And—”
“And?—”
“And I—But you will pay your subscription to the Globe?”
“The Globe—a good paper—an annuity?”
“An annuity, monsieur?—Well, yes, you are right; for it is full of life, of vitality, and learning; choke full of learning; a handsome paper, well printed, a good color, thick paper. Oh, it is none of your flimsy shoddy, mere wastepaper that tears if you look at it. And it goes deep, gives you reasoning that you may think over at leisure, and pleasant occupation here in the depths of the country.”
“That is the thing for me,” said the madman.
“It costs a mere trifle—eighty francs a year.”
“That is not the thing for me,” said Margaritis.
“Monsieur,” said Gaudissart, “of course you have little children?”
“Some,” said Margaritis, who misunderstood have for love.
“Well, then, the Journal des Enfants, seven francs a year—”
“Buy my two casks of wine,” said Margaritis, “and I will subscribe to your children’s paper; that is the thing for me; a fine idea. Intellectual tyranny—a child—heh? Does not man tyrannize over man?”
“Right you are,” said Gaudissart.
“Right I am.”
“And you consent to steer me round the district?”
“Round the district.”
“I have your approbation?”
“You have.”
“Well, then, sir, I will take your two casks of wine at a hundred francs—”
“No, no, a hundred and ten.”
“Monsieur, a hundred and ten, I will say a hundred and ten, but it is a hundred and ten to the gentlemen of the paper and one hundred to me. If I find you a buyer, you owe me a commission.”
“A hundred and twenty to them. No commission to the commissioners.”
“Very neat. And not only witty, but spirited.”
“No, spirituous.”
“Better and better—like Nicolet.”
“That is my way,” said the lunatic. “Come and look at my vineyards?”
“With pleasure,” said Gaudissart. “That wine goes strangely to the head.”
And Gaudissart the Great went out with Monsieur Margaritis, who led him from terrace to terrace, from vine to vine.
The three ladies and Monsieur Vernier could laugh now at their ease, as they saw the two men from the window gesticulating, haranguing, standing still, and going on again, talking vehemently.
“Why did your good man take him out of hearing?” said Vernier. At last Margaritis came in again with the commercial traveler; they were both walking at a great pace as if in a hurry to conclude the business.
“And the countryman, I bet, has been too many for the Parisian,” said Vernier.
In point of fact, Gaudissart the Great, sitting at one end of the card-table, to the great delight of Margaritis, wrote an order for the delivery of two casks of wine. Then, after reading through the contract, Margaritis paid him down seven francs as a subscription to the children’s paper.
“Till tomorrow, then, monsieur,” said Gaudissart the Great, twisting his watch-key; “I shall have the honor of calling for you tomorrow. You can send the wine to Paris direct to the address I have given you, and forward it as soon as you receive the money.”
Gaudissart was from Normandy; there were two sides to every bargain he made, and he required an agreement from Monsieur Margaritis, who with a madman’s glee in gratifying his favorite whim, signed, after reading, a contract to deliver two casks of wine of Clos Margaritis.
So Gaudissart went off in high spirits, humming “Le roi des mers, prends plus bas,” to the Golden Sun Inn, where he naturally had a chat with the host while waiting for dinner. Mitouflet was an old soldier, simple but cunning, as peasants are, but never laughing at a joke, as being a man who is accustomed to the roar of cannon, and to passing a jest in the ranks.
“You have some very tough customers hereabouts,” said Gaudissart, leaning against the doorpost and lighting his cigar at Mitouflet’s pipe.
“How is that?” asked Mitouflet.
“Well, men who ride roughshod over political and financial theories.”
“Whom have you been talking to, if I may make so bold?” asked the innkeeper guilelessly, while he skilfully expectorated after the manner of smokers.
“To a wideawake chap named Margaritis.”
Mitouflet glanced at his customer, twice, with calm irony.
“Oh yes, he is wideawake, no doubt! He knows too much for most people; they don’t follow him—”
“I can quite believe it. He has a thorough knowledge of the higher branches of finance.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Mitouflet; “and for my part, I have always thought it a pity that he should be mad.”
“Mad? How?”
“How? Why, mad, as a madman is mad,” repeated the innkeeper. “But he is not dangerous, and his wife looks after him.—So you understand each other? That’s funny,” said the relentless Mitouflet, with the utmost calm.
“Funny?” cried Gaudissart. “Funny? But your precious Monsieur Vernier was making a fool of me!”
“Did he send you there?” said Mitouflet.
“Yes.”
“I say, wife,” cried the innkeeper, “listen to that! Monsieur Vernier actually sent monsieur to talk to
