The day dawned, and Julien was fifteen. The house was all a-bustle, servants weaving this way and that, their voices echoing through the halls, decorating and cooking and cleaning for the ball. Before going down to breakfast, Henri knocked on Julien's door. When the blonde answered and saw his friend, he flushed, remembering his conversation with his mother the night before. However am I to tell him? This thought pervaded his every thought, and set his gut a-churning.

Julien led his friend into his room, and shut the door behind them so that he could continue dressing. Henri, oblivious to Julien's discomfort, swept his friend up into an exuberant embraced and gave him an affectionate bissous. Then, as an afterthought, kissed him soundly on the lips, grinning from ear to ear. While this raised Julien's hopes somewhat, it did nothing to quell his nerves.

"Happy Birthday, Julien!" said Henri with congratulatory zeal. "Here, I have something for you." He proffered the package that had been awkwardly clutched in his hand throughout his greeting.

"Thank you, mon ami," Julien said with a warm smile, taking his gift. "You really needn't have gone to all the trouble." Even so, his heart beat wildly with the pleasure of receiving a gift from his beloved. He cared not what it was. He would cherish anything so long as it was from Henri.

Sitting absently on his bed, he began to tear open the paper. Henri, suddenly overcome with a gift-giver's nerves, began to make excuses for his present. "I thought it best to give it to you this morning, for I am sure you will be quite overwhelmed with gifts and compliments tonight. It is really nothing much, and I hope you will like it, but if not, it is no matter."

At this point, Julien had finished opening his present, and stared at it for a moment with lips parted. It was a waistcoat – scarlet red with beautiful brass buttons and golden chording, and expertly made. He stroked his fingers gently over the fabric. It was not overly fine, but of a grade one could wear every day if he so wished. Julien absolutely loved it, but he had been silent for too long.

"It is truly alright if you do not like it," Henri said apologetically, breaking the silence.

"No, no, Henri, I love it! It is perfect, ami, thank you!" Jumping up, he put it on, and looked in the mirror. It fit him perfectly, but there was a good amount of room left in the seams for it to be let out as he grew.

Julien laughed at his dashing self in the mirror. "But where did you get my measurements, Henri?"

Henri was abashed. "I asked your mother for them. I – Julien I wanted you to be able to stand out from the crowd. To rebel against the norm, if you will. I want you to look like a – like a revolutionary. I know it is an odd choice of present, but – "

"Nonsense, cheri, it is wonderful! I shall wear it very often. Thank you, again. In fact, I believe I shall wear it tonight."

"Oh no, Julien, it is not nearly fine enough for such a ball!"

"Henri, it is my birthday and I shall wear what I wish!" Julien said with a lordly tilt of the head, happily playing the advantage of the day.

Then he burst out in a smile. "But come, dear, let us go down to breakfast! No doubt they have been waiting for us."

There was more than his family waiting at breakfast – there was the breakfast itself. All of Julien's favourite things were served. Hot croissants with apple-butter, crepes with butter and sugar, strawberries, and anything else you could possible want for breakfast. Best of all was the café au lait, in Henri's opinion. They were simple things, true, but that was how Julien liked it.

All the morning was spent in talk, and the day flew by. At around 4 o'clock, everyone retired to ready themselves for the party. Henri did not see his friend again for nearly three hours as the family attended to their toilettes. Henri bathed and shaved (he did not yet need a shave very often, but wanted to look fresh tonight). His footman attended to his clothes, and combed his hair. Henri was not used to that sort of attention. When the footman tried to attack his hair with a curling iron, he had to use his utmost control to refuse him graciously. His hair curled quite tightly naturally as it dried, though the footman was not to know that, and Henri was deathly afraid of being burned and singed by a coal-heated iron. Finally, he was dressed and presentable in a turquoise colored waistcoat and his best tailcoat, cravat tied in an elegant knot about his throat.

He dismissed the servant and went to knock at Julien's door. The footman attending Julien answered, and told Henri rather dismissively that Julien was still dressing. Julien, however, came rushing to the door in his shirtsleeves to greet his friend. "Nonsense, Gaspard," he told his footman, "Henri is welcome at any time. Come, Henri, talk with me while I dress." And so he came into Julien's room and sat on the bed as Julien dressed. They talked idly, not wishing for a real conversation to be heard by the footman.

Henri noticed that Julien's mind seemed to be dwelling on something else. Sure his friend was simply worried about the night to come, Henri said teasingly, "I suppose there will be endless aunts and uncles for you to speak with tonight. Why, we shall hardly see each other, I am sure, for all of the congratulations and pretty young ladies that will doubtless be heaped upon you."

Julien's answer was shockingly bitter. "I wish those sycophantic fools would stop thrusting their daughters at me. It's always like this." Then, as if to himself, "I never should have let my mother talk me into this."

Henri was extremely concerned. He could not have known the turmoil in Julien's soul, but still Julien was agonizing over how to tell Henri his feelings. "Julien, what is wrong?" Henri asked in surprise. He did not know where this black mood had come from.

Julien, finally seeing that he had painted his heart upon his sleeve, smiled reassuringly and laughed. "It is of no matter. There are certain cousins I should rather not see, shall we say. Worry not, friend. We shall have a wonderful evening nonetheless. Gaspard, where are those brass cufflinks?"

It was clear that the conversation was over, but Henri was unconvinced. Julien's cheerfulness was forced. He knew his friend well enough to know something was amiss, but he could not ask outright with Gaspard in the room. Servants never had much discretion.

Julien turned the conversation to horses and finished dressing. Henri had to admit that his blond friend looked absolutely glorious. Golden curls shone like the sun and blue eyes glimmered, deep and bright. The scarlet waistcoat would stand out against the masses of dull colors. Julien's clothes were like his soul that night – unlike any others. It seemed as if Julien's spirit and passion for life and for his ideals were emblazoned upon his person.

Henri felt something stir deep within him as he gazed upon his friend, and he felt suddenly that he could weep for joy. Julien – Oh, how he loved his Julien! He ached for him. He ached to please him, and to have his approval, and to kiss him, and to hold him close forever. He wished never to be parted from him. He wished to say all of these things to the one he loved, but instead he said, "You look wonderful," and left it at that.

They smiled at one another. "Merci boucoup, mon ami. And so do you. Thank you, Gaspard." The man left the room upon his dismissal, and Henri stood. Julien crossed to his green-eyed friend and kissed him gently on the cheek. Julien then frowned thoughtfully at Henri, and the brunette thought perhaps he was going to tell him what ailed him. "Henri, I – " Then he smiled, and shook his head, looking away. "Shall we go down? The guests will be arriving soon."

Henri nodded, unwilling to press his friend. If he did not wish to speak of his woes, Henri would not force him to do so, especially if it would ruin his night. Smiling amiably, he took his friend's arm and descended into the ballroom.