"
"So that you have realized your intellectual capital through your
wines? Ah, I see!" said Gaudissart.
"I have realized," said the lunatic. "Would you like to buy my
puncheons? you shall have them on good terms."
"No, I was merely speaking," said the illustrious Gaudissart, "of the
results of insurance and the employment of intellectual capital. I
will resume my argument."
The lunatic calmed down, and fell once more into position.
"I remarked, Monsieur, that if you die the capital will be paid to
your family without discussion."
"Without discussion?"
"Yes, unless there were suicide."
"That's quibbling."
"No, Monsieur; you are aware that suicide is one of those acts which
are easy to prove--"
"In France," said the fool; "but--"
"But in other countries?" said Gaudissart. "Well, Monsieur, to cut
short discussion on this point, I will say, once for all, that death
in foreign countries or on the field of battle is outside of our--"
"Then what are you insuring? Nothing at all!" cried Margaritis. "My
bank, my Territorial Bank, rested upon--"
"Nothing at all?" exclaimed Gaudissart, interrupting the good-man.
"Nothing at all? What do you call sickness, and afflictions, and
poverty, and passions? Don't go off on exceptional points."
"No, no! no points," said the lunatic.
"Now, what's the result of all this?" cried Gaudissart. "To you, a
banker, I can sum up the profits in a few words. Listen. A man lives;
he has a future; he appears well; he lives, let us say, by his art; he
wants money; he tries to get it,--he fails.
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