In Paris Barnum met Mangin at a café and was introduced. Mangin had read the French edition of the autobiography, and he had been much impressed with Barnum’s methods and their success. Barnum had seen Mangin in his working clothes and he was delighted. Mangin outlined his policy, which coincided perfectly with Barnum’s lifelong practice: “First, attract the public by din and tinsel, by brilliant sky-rockets and Bengola lights, then give them as much as possible for their money.” After congratulating each other for an hour on their respective successes with the public, they parted, and as he got ready to leave Mangin told Barnum that he had a humbug in his head that would double the sale of his pencils. “Don’t ask me what it is,” he said, “but within one year you shall see it for yourself, and you shall acknowledge Monsieur Mangin knows something of human nature.” Barnum was curious; but soon afterwards he read in the newspapers that Mangin had died, leaving 200,000 francs to charity. His praises were sung in all the newspapers of France and Great Britain. After six months Mangin appeared again in Paris in the same cuirass and helmet, with the same chariot and bays, and the same servant in robes of velvet and gold. Barnum met him again, and he said that his sudden death had quadrupled the sale of his pencils and had given him a six months’ rest in the country. “You Yankees are clever,” he said, “but none of you has discovered that you should live all the better if you would die for six months.” Mangin died a few years later and left his heirs half a million francs.