The weeks flew by, and the date of the Julien's birthday ball was fast approaching. Even Julien, who could have cared less about a birthday celebration, was getting a bit excited. His birthday coincided with the fall of the Bastille, and he felt a distinct sort of pride in secretly celebrating a day so hated by the monarchy. It was his honor to have been born on an anniversary of a day so important to his ideals.

Henri, for his part, was simply glad to be able to spend so much time with Julien. They passed their days riding, running, playing chess, and any number of other things. A few times, they rode into the nearby village to have a look at the market. Everyone seemed to know Julien there, and they were all genuinely friendly. It was expected that they would be respectful to the son of their landlord, but they seemed to genuinely like Julien. Henri was not surprised. What was not to like? Twice, they went to the beach for a day, and Henri absolutely gloried in the sun and the sea. There was nothing like it. They spent their evenings reading, supping with the family, and playing rounds of vignt-un, among other things. Henri could not have cared less what he did, so long as he did it with Julien.

Henri had not yet heard back from his father, and he was beginning to worry. He wrote again, asking if his letter had been lost, and also sent individual letters to his mother and sisters. In all other respects, however, he was happy.

Julien was thrilled to have Henri with him for the summer. He loved to spend time with his green-eyed, freckled friend (more freckled after the beach), and couldn't get enough of his odd wit and intelligent conversation. Julien never wanted to be away from him, and had an aching desire to please him in any way possible. Anything Henri wanted he would be happy to give him, if only to see a smile on his face.

Still, to his mortification, the lusty dreams of his friend plagued him. One night, Henri had fallen asleep in Julien's bed reading, and Julien had not the heart to wake him, so he curled up beside him as he often did at school. In the twilight hours, he had awoken with a cry from one of these dreams to find Henri asleep beside him. In a panic, he had rushed off to the bathing room to take care of his problem, praying that Henri would not wake. Thankfully, he did not, but Julien was not able to return to bed after that. Julien's guilt and shame over his debasing thoughts of his friend could not be shaken. No matter how desperately he wished to master his passions, he could not escape the dreams, and the thought of disrespecting someone he loved and valued more than anyone in the world tortured him. If only Julien had known that Henri was having the same problems.

Despite the shameful dreams both boys had at night, they always successfully banished the thoughts in the morning, and managed to grow closer over the days spent in each other's company. Clarice scrutinized their relationship from afar, and daily her conviction grew that her son truly loved this dark-haired boy from the city, and that the dark-haired boy loved Julien in return. Still, there was something holding them back. A fear for propriety, she was sure. The boys did not quite understand that there was nothing wrong with their love, and tried to hide it, sometimes even from each other. Clarice wanted Julien's happiness more than anything, and there was only one way. Yes, she would have to speak with him. But how?

The day before Julien's ball came, and Henri retired early from what had been an exhausting day of learning how to fence. Julien moved to accompany him, but his mother called to him. "Julien, cheri, may I speak with you?" Julien turned to face her "It's about the ball," she added with a smile.

Julien turned to his friend and gave him an apologetic glance, then turned to his mother. "Oui, Maman, of course. Bonne nuit, Henri."

"Bon nuit, Julien."

After Henri left the room, Clarice motioned for her son to come closer. Julien nervously sat on the chaise beside her. It was clear from his mother's expression that this was not about the party, and he was anxious to hear what his mother could possibly have to say to him that was giving her such nerves. "Maman, what is this really about?"

Clarice heaved a steadying sigh. "Julien, it is about your ami, Henri."

Julien's brows shot up in surprise. "Maman, what is the matter? What has he done? Do you dislike Henri?"

Clarice smiled kindly, and patted her son on the shoulder. "Non, non, mon cher, of course not. Nothing like that." Julien looked visibly relieved, but still uneasy at the strangeness of this conversation. He looked askance at his mother, but did not interrupt.

"Julien, cheri, you love Henri very much, do you not?"

"Of course, Maman, he is my dearest friend."

"Oui, Julien, but do you love him as more than a friend?" she blurted out, shooting straight to the point.

Julien's eyes widened and he visibly blushed. He froze stock still, clenching his hands into the upholstery of the chaise. "Whatever can you mean, Maman?" He knew exactly what she meant. How does she know? He inwardly panicked.

"Julien, my darling, I think you know what I mean," she said gently, covering his white-knuckled hand with her own.

"Maman, I – that is, I – well –"

Clarice, seeing that her child was in distress, rushed to clarify. "Julien, it is alright. It is nothing of which to be ashamed. I wish you only happiness, my dear, that is what I wanted to say. That was the purpose of this conversation. I wish you to know that I will love you no matter whom you choose to love!"

Julien took one long calculating look at his mother, and then crumpled into her arms, all of his tension leaving him at once. "Maman," he said softly, his voice breaking. Then, muffled by her shoulder, he began to cry. Great sobs wracked his frame as he let out all of the feelings he had kept bottled up for so long.

"Maman!" he wailed into the crème muslin veiling her shoulder. "I love him so much. I cannot help it, Maman. I always want to be with him, and when I am not my heart aches. I would do anything for him – anything to make him happy. I want to see him smile. I love his conversation, his wit, his very soul! Everything. I always want to kiss him and – and –" Here he stopped, and pulled away, wiping away his tears, and staring abashedly into his lap.

Clarice smiled sympathetically at her son's cathartic confessions, glad to see that he had finally admitted his feelings. But, as much as it embarrassed her, she felt that she needed to speak with him about one more thing. "Julien," she said tentatively. "Were you going to finish your sentence?"

Julien looked up at his mother, wide eyed and scared and hopelessly embarrassed. "No, Maman. It is nothing."

Clarice, however, with her usual penetrating clarity, asked gently, "Do you want him to be your lover?"

"Maman!" her son cried, absolutely scandalized. "You cannot just ask a question like that!"

"My dear, it is perfectly natural. I hold no illusions that you are ignorant of that part of love. You are quite old enough to know by now, and I am sure you do. If you have any questions, though, please know that you can come to me."

"Mére, you are being ridiculous!"

"Julien, I gave birth to you. Do you think I do not know the way of things?"

"Well, even if I did want Henri to be – to be that, he would not wish the same!" Julien spat defensively. "So I will not be needing your assistance!"

He moved to stand, but Clarice wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down to the chaise. Julien returned to his seat, but crossed his arms with his back to his mother. "Oh, Julien, mon cher, do not take things so. I only wish to help. How do you know your Henri does not feel the same way? Have you asked him?"

"No, Mére! Why would I ask him such a thing?!"

"Well I happen to think that he loves you just as much as you love him, and that he wants all of the same things you do."

"How could you possibly know that?!" Julien exclaimed, whipping around to face her.

"My sweet, I have seen the way he looks at you. I am a woman, and we have an intuitive sense of such things. And he lets you kiss him, does he not? And he kisses you?"

At this, Julien calmed down a bit, if only to satisfy his curiosity about how all of this had begun. "Yes, mother, but how exactly have you come to know this?"

"That first day, I saw you kiss him down by the stables after your ride. I have watched the two of you ever since, just to be sure. I am certain, now, of your mutual affection."

Julien blushed, remembering how concerned Henri had been that someone could have seen. Well, it seems that someone had. "Maman?" he began, his defensiveness replaced by tentative hope. "Do you really think he loves me as I love him?"

Clarice smiled at her son, and took him into her arms in a warm embrace. "Oui, cheri, I think he loves you very much." Then, holding him by the shoulders at an arm's length, she scrutinized her vulnerable son. His face was flushed and streaked with tears, and his brow furrowed. Cupid's arrow sends the heart all aquiver.

Determinedly, Clarice proposed her solution to all of her son's woes. "There is only one way to find out, isn't there, Julien?" She reached up and smoothed Julien's knitted brow, and lifted his chin so as to meet her son's teary eyes. "You must tell him how you feel."

Julien looked down, understanding, at last, that his mother had only meant to help. Nearly imperceptibly, he nodded, knowing what he had to do.

Finished with her speech, Clarice stood. "And now, I think it is time for us to retire. We have a big day tomorrow."

Julien stood with her, and graced her with a tight embrace. "Bonne nuit, Maman."

"Bonne nuit, Julien."

Nothing more needed to be said. They went to bed, hearts full of hope, and nerves, and love.