(by Edward Zeusgany, copyright 2000, all rights reserved)

Ninety-five, who’d have thought it, Prof. Heston thought. He was relaxed and comfortable in a leather upholstered arm chair positioned next to a floor to ceiling window that displayed the Parisian street scene one floor below. And Philippe Marie was still with him. It was amazing to the elderly man that such a young person could be attracted to one so very old. Unusual certainly, gratifying without a doubt. There was no accounting for such preferences, they just were.

Uncle Andrew liked to kid Philippe Marie that he had better watch out. When he himself turned sixty-five or so, he might be in danger of becoming narcissistic. Prof. Heston imagined a gray haired Philippe spending hours in the bathroom, looking with loving eyes into the mirror on the front the medicine cabinet. He chuckled to himself thinking of bringing up that old joke once again. But the young man, now thirty three, always brushed it aside and never laughed. Andrew let the opportunity pass.

Prof. Heston was about to make an alternate comment when he experienced a sudden weariness and felt a little woozy. He closed his eyes, just for a second.

Philippe Marie slowly finished his after dinner cognac. Uncle Andrew had often voiced the opinion that it was the height of foolishness to resuscitate a frail and ancient fellow who had had the good fortune to drop dead. The young man went to the decanter and poured himself a small second, enough for a toast.

“Here’s to you, old man,” he said, raising his glass.

From some distance away, Prof. Heston heard the words, or perhaps in some other fashion sensed them. There were two speakers saying the same thing slightly out of synchrony. The second voice was Parmly’s. Prof. Heston wondered what that could mean.