“Sir,” answered William J. Bidulph, “there is nothing more simple. Two signatures—yours and mine—at the bottom of a policy, and the insurance is effected after a few preliminary formalities. But, sir, permit me to ask this question: you desire to die only at a very advanced age, do you not?—quite a natural desire.”

      “Why should I?” asked Kin-Fo. “Usually, when one insures his life, it indicates that he fears sudden death.”

      “O sir!” answered Mr. Bidulph in the most serious way in the world, “that fear is never entertained by the patrons of the Centenary. Does not its name indicate this? To insure with us is to take out a patent of long life. I beg pardon; but it is rare that those insuring with us do not live beyond the hundredth year,—very rare, very rare! For their own good, we ought to deprive them of life. But we do a superb business. So, I assure you, sir, that insurance in the Centenary is a quasi certainty of becoming a centenarian.”

      “Indeed!” said Kin-Fo quietly, looking at William J. Bidulph with his cold eye.

      The chief agent, serious as a clergyman, had by no means the appearance of joking.

      “However that may be,” resumed Kin-Fo, “I desire to get insured for two hundred thousand dollars.”

      “We say a policy of two hundred thousand dollars,” answered Mr. Bidulph.

      He entered this sum in his note-book, and its magnitude did not even cause him to raise his eyebrows.

      “You know,” he added, “that the insurance is void, and that all premiums paid, whatever their number, go to the company, if the person insured loses his life through the act of the beneficiary of the contract.”

      “I know that.”

      “And against what risks do you pretend to insure, my dear sir?”

      “All kinds.”

      “Risks of travel by land or sea, and those of a residence outside the limits of the Celestial Empire?”

      “Yes.”

      “Risks of legal sentence?”

      “Yes.”

      “Risks of duel?”

      “Yes.”

      “Risks of military service?”

      “Yes.”

      “Then the premiums will be very high.”

      “I will pay what is necessary.”

      “It is agreed.”

      “But,” added Kin-Fo, “there is another very important risk, which you do not speak of.”

      “What is it?”

      “Suicide. I thought the statutes of the Centenary authorized it to insure against suicide also.”

      “Just so, sir! just so!” answered William J. Bidulph, rubbing his hands. “Even that proves a source of splendid profit to us. You understand, our patrons are generally people who value life; and those who, through exaggerated prudence, insure against suicide, never kill themselves.”

      “For all that,” answered Kin-Fo, “for personal reasons, I wish to insure against this risk also.”

      “Bless me! but it is a pretty big premium.”

      “I repeat that I will pay whatever is necessary.”

      “Of course we will put down, then,” said Mr. Bidulph, continuing to write in his note-book, “risks of travelling by sea and land, and suicide.”

      “And on those conditions what will be the amount to pay?” asked Kin-Fo.

      “My dear sir,” answered the principal agent, “our premiums are tabled with a mathematical accuracy which is greatly to the honor of the company. They are not based, as they used to be, on Duvillars’ tables. Are you acquainted with Duvillars?”

      “I am not acquainted with Duvillars.”

      “A remarkable statistician, but already ancient,—so ancient, even, that he is dead. At the time that he established his famous tables, which still serve as the scale for premiums in the majority of European companies, which are very much behind the times, the average duration of life was less than now, thanks to general progress. We form a basis on a higher medium, and, consequently, one more favorable to the insured, who pays a lower price, and lives longer.”

      “What will be the amount of my premium?” resumed Kin-Fo, desirous of stopping the wordy agent, who neglected no occasion to mention this advantage in favor of the Centenary.

      “Sir,” answered William J. Bidulph, “may I take the liberty of asking your age?”

      “Thirty-one years.”

      “Well, at thirty-one, if you were only insuring on ordinary risks, you would pay in any company two eighty-three per cent; but in the Centenary it will only be two seventy, which, for a capital of two hundred thousand dollars, would make five thousand four hundred dollars per annum.”

      “And on the conditions that I desire?” asked Kin-Fo.

      “Insuring against every risk, even suicide?”

      “Suicide above every thing.”

      “Sir,” answered Mr. Bidulph in an amiable tone, after having consulted a printed table on the last page of his note-book, “we cannot do this for you at less than twenty-five per cent.”

      “Which will make?”

      “Fifty thousand dollars.”

      “And how will the premium be paid you?”

      “All at once, or in parts monthly, at the pleasure of the person insured.”

      “And what would it be for the first two months?”

      “Eight thousand three hundred and thirty-two dollars, which, if paid to-day, the 30th of April, my dear sir, would cover you to the 30th of June of the present year.”

      “Sir,” said Kin-Fo, “those conditions suit me. Here is the premium for the first two months.” And he placed on the table a thick roll of bills, which he drew from his pocket.

      “Well, sir, very well,” answered Mr. Bidulph. “But, before signing the policy, there is one formality to be gone through with.”

      “What is it?”

      “You must receive a visit from the physician of the company.”

      “For what reason?”

      “In order to ascertain if you are soundly built, if you have no organic malady of a nature to shorten life, if, in short, you can give us guaranties of a long life.”

      “Of what use is that, since I insure even against duel and suicide?” observed Kin-Fo.

      “Well, my dear sir,”