This cousin was a worthy man, about fifty years of age. But,
notwithstanding his fifty years, it would not have been prudent to let
him go out alone. Long, rather than tall, narrow, rather than thin, his
figure bony, his skull enormous and very hairy, one recognized in his
whole interminable person one of those worthy savants, with gold
spectacles, good and inoffensive beings, destined to remain great
children all their lives, and to finish very old, like centenaries who
would die at nurse.

"Cousin Benedict"--he was called so invariably, even outside of the
family, and, in truth, he was indeed one of those good men who seem to
be the born cousins of all the world--Cousin Benedict, always impeded
by his long arms and his long limbs, would be absolutely incapable of
attending to matters alone, even in the most ordinary circumstances of
life. He was not troublesome, oh! no, but rather embarrassing for
others, and embarrassed for himself. Easily satisfied, besides being
very accommodating, forgetting to eat or drink, if some one did not
bring him something to eat or drink, insensible to the cold as to the
heat, he seemed to belong less to the animal kingdom than to the
vegetable kingdom. One must conceive a very useless tree, without fruit
and almost without leaves, incapable of giving nourishment or shelter,
but with a good heart.

Such was Cousin Benedict. He would very willingly render service to
people if, as Mr. Prudhomme would say, he were capable of rendering it.

Finally, his friends loved him for his very feebleness. Mrs. Weldon
regarded him as her child--a large elder brother of her little Jack.

It is proper to add here that Cousin Benedict was, meanwhile, neither