Count Alexis

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If Madame Benoit shrugged her shoulders with a knowing look when the purity and austerity of my manner of living was discussed, she had good cause for it.

Madame Benoit was an old friend, a friend of my childhood. About twenty-four years ago she married a tax collector in the little town of N-, where I made the acquaintance of the gentleman whom I called Monsieur Benoit at first, and who simply became Benoit to me afterwards.

My dear friend had the weakness to confide everything to his wife, even to his old love scrapes, which were familiar to her, and that is why Madame Benoit shrugged her shoulders when my wonderful qualities were enumerated.

Benoit had died some years previously and being somewhat lonely in my bachelor quarters, I took an apartment near my late friend's widow.

There was a good deal of whispering to be sure, but Madame Benoit was forty-two years old and I was forty-eight. The fire of youth was probably soon to be extinguished for my neighbour but as for myself, the older I got, the younger I felt.

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