He stood in a living room about the size of the all-purpose room in the little house he had grown up in. The furniture was simple and serviceable, with a sofa and a few chairs in front of a fireplace. A skylight had been let into the top half of the north end of the wall and adjacent ceiling and the area below it was bare except for a sturdy worktable, waiting for Robbie’s easel and brushes and paints. He glanced into the bedroom and his eyes lingered on the double bed he had requested, also without knowing why. Even then he apparently had been thinking of finding someone to share it.

  The bathroom and tiny kitchenette, including a refrigerator, completed his house. He went to the end of the living room and stepped out onto the terrace that looked out over the sea. He had to go to the edge of it before he could see down into the main living quarters and the cove below. He could lie naked in the sun in perfect privacy. It was all too good to be believed.

  He poked about in closets and cupboards and saw that everything he had sent back from school was here, as were the bags from the boat. He set to work moving in. By the time he had created some order, he had arrived at the realization that no challenges faced him here. This was his refuge; he would stay away from town. Nobody need know who he brought here. He had his work to help him resist temptation. Edward already took it for granted that they would make forays into town together but if the English boy continued to fall in love he would probably be delighted to keep Robbie for himself out here.

  It occurred to Robbie that the Cumberleighs’ self-proclaimed liberation from their elders was as limiting as secrecy and self-denial. He couldn’t be the only one who would be hesitant about public association with Edward’s open admission of homosexuality. By saying everything, they made themselves conspicuous. He could indulge himself more freely than they because nobody would be paying any attention. He supposed he had to go back to town for the statue but he wouldn’t go to the Tour Engloutie even if he could get away from his father. It sounded like the sort of place that offered nothing but trouble. No matter what Edward said, he wasn’t ready to be found out.

  Bathed, dressed in cool clean clothes, somewhat rested, the Coslings had Boldoni’s gala dinner under the stars. The great terrace was furnished like a living room with groupings of handsome outdoor furniture set about on it. The dining table was set near the edge over the sea. Stuart doubted they would use their impressive reception rooms till winter. Before the meal was half over, Robbie was getting drowsy on wine.

  “The statue,” he exclaimed to wake himself up. “Do you suppose either of us has the strength to lift it?”

  “I hope Hilliard is in good shape. We could let it go till tomorrow. The boat doesn’t have to be back for three days. Still, I’d feel better getting it ashore now.”

  “Me too.”

  “Look, we don’t both have to go in. Stanley’s having dinner with friends. We won’t have any trouble picking up an extra hand. Even better, I’ll take Felix. He has the strength of ten. The statue won’t be any secret from him.”

  “You sure you don’t mind?”

  “Of course not. It doesn’t make any sense for both of us to knock ourselves out.” He was disappointed and hurt—he had thought of the statue as a joint venture that they would conclude together—but he was too numb with exhaustion and drink to feel anything very deeply.

  “I’m sure Felix could handle it all by himself,” Helene said, approving Robbie’s withdrawal.

  “If you happen to see Anne and Edward, tell them I’ve collapsed. They wanted to take me to the Tour Engloutie to see some dancer.”

  “Yes, several people mentioned him,” Helene said dismissively. “It doesn’t sound like the sort of thing we’d be interested in.” She had been shocked by what she’d heard about the Tour Engloutie. She’d caught men eying Robbie during the cruise. She didn’t know what men did together nor how widespread such practices were, but she wouldn’t allow his beauty to be defiled. He still had a glow of innocence that she hoped he wouldn’t lose for a few more years.

  “He’d have to be fairly sensational to keep me awake,” Robbie said. The subject was closed.

  Stuart drove carefully. He wasn’t drunk. He was functioning on alcohol. He left Felix in the car and found Hilliard and his girl and they crossed to a café where they found several couples whose names couldn’t penetrate the sheath of numbness in which he was encased. The evening crowd was at its height and Stuart had seen lights on Northern Star, which meant that the crew was still awake. He resigned himself to waiting till after midnight and ordered a brandy.

  “We’re going to the Tour Engloutie in a little while, if it’s all right with you,” Hilliard said. “Have you heard about it?”

  “It opened last year. I understand it’s properly disreputable.”

  “They’ve got a kid dancing there. All the pansies in town go. Next to you, he’s the sensation of the season. Pat’s crazy for him.”

  “Nuts,” Hilliard’s girl said succinctly. She was a smart hard-looking young American. “As any dope can see, he’s damn beautiful. He’s a nice kid, too. The Lambrechts know him. He’s not a pansy.”

  “You mean you hope he’s not,” Hilliard said.

  “The way you carry on about him, anybody’d think you were. I bet Mr. Cosling agrees with me when he sees him.”

  “You two are coming back with me afterward, aren’t you?” Stuart asked.

  “Our bags are packed. Nobody’ll ask us for a marriage license when we register?”

  “Mr. and Mrs. John Doe will do for our circumspect establishment.”

  All of St. Tropez seemed to be trying to get into the Tour Engloutie. The narrow gangway that led across the rocks to it was so crowded that Stuart’s party had to shuffle slowly to the door. Within was a large circular stone-walled room partially open to the sky. The lighting was dim. There was a three-piece band against the wall and a small platform in front of them on which people jigged up and down because lateral movement was out of the question. With the dark and the noise, Stuart had no clear impression of the people around him. They had more drinks and waited.

  He felt as if he’d been there all night when the music stopped, people left the floor, the band evoked a flourish, and a man in a white dinner jacket stepped forward and announced, “The sensation of the dance, the great artist for whom you are all waiting: Toni.” The room was plunged into darkness and a spotlight flashed on, revealing the dancer.

  Stuart’s first thought was of the statue. Toni stood with his hands on his hips, his head lifted and turned slightly to one side, poised and relaxed and naked except for a skimpy cache-sexe. His. body was beautiful but it was his face that held Stuart’s attention. His features were neither classic nor pretty in a theatrical way, but oddly pure and distinguished in spite of his youth. Even the golden curls that looked as if they’d been tampered with didn’t make him look effeminate. He emanated a godlike pastoral freshness. His exhibiting himself in this way seemed inappropriate but Stuart blamed the audience rather than the boy.

  The band burst into a fast blaring Slavic number and the dancer whirled into motion. The dance was preposterous, composed of scraps of classic ballet and bits derived from folk dancing and others that suggested the music hall, but he moved with athletic abandon and a personal style that made the performance arresting. As he watched, Stuart was conscious of a feeling of familiarity. There seemed to be something that eluded him. Did the boy remind him of someone? Of Robbie? No, although they were not unlike in type in spite of the different coloring. The feeling persisted, nagging but not particularly interesting.

  As abruptly as it had started, the performance was over. There was a split second of silence and then a storm of applause. The youth stood up to it, breathing heavily. Then he smiled and Stuart knew. It was the smile. He had seen it before. In his semi-drugged condition, doubt, skepticism, incredulity, all were in abeyance. The notion lay in his mind and he stared, deaf to the obscene witticisms being screamed at the boy, to the laughter and the applause. The room was plunged once more into darkness. When the lights came on, the dancer was gone. Stuart leaned over to Hilliard.

  “I’ve got to talk to that kid,” he said, feeling an excitement that exhaustion kept out of his voice. “You say you know him?”

  “Good God, you too? Stuart, you’re a family man. You have a wife and son. Anyway, he’s coming to join us. He’s a friend of the Lambrechts.”

  In a few minutes Toni appeared on the other side of the room and started toward them. Men and women caught at him, tried to detain him. He moved slowly through the tables, smiling amiably, disengaging himself gently but firmly from importunate hands. He was wearing a blouselike shirt and tight dark trousers. He reached them finally. Somebody handed him a stool and he sat between Pat and Mrs. Lambrecht, one place removed from Stuart.

  At close range, he was more an ordinary good-looking young man. He was heavily tanned and his hair looked less golden. The distinction remained but the godlike quality was canceled by an air of quite mortal good health. Stuart waited until general conversation had been resumed and then, feeling the absurdity of his interest, he leaned back around Pat and touched the youth on the shoulder. He turned with the smile Stuart had found so familiar but it faded and was replaced by a watchful expression.

  “Where are you from?” Stuart asked bluntly. The boy hesitated, as if in the habit of appraising strangers’ intentions.

  “Are you French?” he asked in his turn.

  “No, but I live here. My name’s Cosling.”

  “Oh, yes, of course, I’ve heard of you.” The boy relaxed visibly and the smile reappeared.

  “And your name?” Stuart asked impatiently.

  “Toni.”

  “Yes, I know, but your family name.”

  “I don’t use it in the theater. It’s Guilloux.”

  “And where are you from?”

  “Brittany, a little village called Guéquamp.”

  “Is that anywhere near Belcoe?”

  “Oh, yes, about twenty kilometers.”

  “Do you know a family called Sémillon there?”

  “Sémillon? Not that I know of. I’ve never even been to Belcoe. You know it?”

  “I used to long ago. There was a girl called Marguerite Sémillon. She’s probably married now and called by another name.”

  “I don’t know,” the dancer said. “I’ve never been there.” Stuart scarcely heard the other’s voice. Belcoe. Marguerite Sémillon. Toni. Toni Guilloux. Was his appearance when he smiled only a racial resemblance? Did Bretons from that part of the coast look alike, as did natives of many remote provinces?

  “Your mother and father, they’re both still alive?” Stuart struggled on.

  “Oh yes, although they’re both quite old now. I’m the youngest. It’s funny, your knowing Belcoe.”

  “How old are you?” Stuart persisted.

  “Almost twenty-three.” A puzzled look crept into the boy’s face.

  “What’s your birthdate?”

  “What do you do? Read horoscopes?” Toni asked with a laugh that bordered on insolence. It was the first touch of coarseness Stuart had detected in him and he was reminded of his feeling at the beginning of the dance. It wasn’t the boy’s fault. How could he avoid being corrupted by such an atmosphere?

  “I’m interested,” Stuart said mildly. “When were you born?”

  “The thirteenth of August, one thousand, nine hundred, and fifteen,” Toni replied with a laugh. Stuart set himself checking dates but his mind stumbled when he tried to count. August … That didn’t seem right.

  “I’d like to talk to you again some time,” he said before he realized that Toni was no longer listening.

  “Well, have you found the love of your life?” Hilliard asked.

  “He comes from a village near a place where I once spent a summer. He reminded me of someone I knew there.”

  “That so? As a matter of fact, I was thinking he looks a little like you. He has the same kind of nose, poor fellow.”

  They stayed on long enough to give Toni time to finish the drink they had ordered for him and then they all left together; Once outside, the Lambrechts announced their intention of going to bed.

  “What are you going to do?” Stuart asked Toni. “You’re finished there for the night?”

  “Once an evening is quite enough,” Toni said emphatically.

  “You don’t like it?”

  “Not much. I only do it to pay for my vacation. Not that I would have to pay for it, if you follow me, but I’m no gigolo.”

  Stuart forgave him for thinking he had to say it. “Why don’t you come with us? We need all the muscle we can find.” He explained about the statue and asked Toni to come out to the house for a drink after they had loaded it into the car. Toni brightened.

  “I’d like to see your place. Of course I’ve been to some of the grandest villas on the coast, but they say yours is unusual.”

  “Well, you’ll see for yourself,” Stuart said. Since they had spoken French, he explained to Hilliard and his girl what had been arranged. He went to the car and nudged Felix, who sprang into action from a dead sleep.

  As they boarded Northern Star Stuart spoke loudly so that if the crew awoke they wouldn’t bother to come out. When he opened the locker, Hilliard whistled.

  “Did you steal it or kill it?” Swaddled in blankets, stained with greasy water, it looked like the victim of some terrible calamity.

  The four men wrestled with it and after a struggle managed to get it up onto the afterdeck. There they trussed it in ropes and eased it slowly down the gangplank. At last it was installed in the back seat of the Rolls. Passersby stared.

  “Thank God you came along,” Stuart said to Toni. “I don’t think we could’ve managed without you.”

  “I don’t think you could. As a rule I shouldn’t do heavy work like that because of my dancing. I’ve got to be careful not to strain a muscle.”

  “Well, that’s it. Let’s go. Do you remember the road, Stan?” Hilliard assured him that he did and they went off to get their car while Stuart and Toni climbed into the Rolls, with Felix in the back to watch over the statue.

  “How did you happen to get this dancing job?” Stuart asked as they started out of town.

  “Oh, I’ve been going to classes in dancing and dramatics in Paris and the man who runs the place knew the man who owns this joint and they arranged it.” He spoke slangy Parisian French.

  “Have you always wanted to work in the theater?”

  “Not exactly. It’s a long story. I went to Paris to find a job and ended up as a waiter. Then I met René Barteau. D’you know him? He’s quite well known in the theater. He thought I had talent and arranged for me to take these classes and he’s helped me get small parts. I’ve been promised a part in a film in the autumn.”

  A commonplace story, Stuart concluded, possibly blameless, possibly not. “What do you think of those people who come to see you?” he said pointedly.

  “Les pédés? They make me shit. They don’t fool around with me.” The answer satisfied Stuart. The boy could have evaded the question but he had spoken with conviction.

  “What made you decide to leave home?” Stuart asked.

  “Well, you know Brittany. Who wants to live there the rest of their lives? Besides, we didn’t even live in the village. My family are peasants. All they think about is their crops and the animals. I liked school. I read a lot. I guess it gave me ideas.” Stuart recognized himself in reverse. He seemed a nice simple kid, with the touch of imagination that had drawn him to the big city. His son.

  “It’s too bad you have to work here if you don’t like it.”

  “Oh, well, it could be worse. I’m having a big success.” He couldn’t make Stuart out. So far, he had betrayed none of the signs Toni had grown quick to detect, but this sounded as if it might be an opening. Was he going to offer to keep him? He had learned in Paris that he could expect just about anybody to try to go to bed with him. This had its advantages professionally but hadn’t much affected the moral principles that had been bred in him.

  He had never gone to bed with a woman unless he was attracted to her, and never for money. In the case of the few men it had happened with, vital interests had usually been involved. He couldn’t see that it did him much harm. He always hated his partners after it was over but he didn’t often like them much before it began, either. As soon as he was well enough established he would get married and people would stop bothering him. He liked this man and wanted to see his house. He had heard people talking about it since he’d arrived and he was looking forward to mentioning casually that he had been there, but it wasn’t important enough for him to go to bed with him. The fact that the American couple was following them was reassuring. He turned and looked back.

  “I think your friends are behind us,” he said.

  Stuart decided to leave the statue in the car till morning. Felix took charge of the Hilliard luggage as soon as the other car pulled in behind the Rolls. They all got out and gathered in the village square.

  “You’ve built a goddam town,” Hilliard exclaimed.

  “I’m planning for villagers to come out and perform a jolly dance but I haven’t bought them yet.” Stuart swayed slightly and put a hand on Toni’s shoulder for support. He felt bone and muscle under the loose shirt. His son. “I think I’m finally getting pissed.” He led the way to the guest wing so as not to arouse the whole household. “The rest of it’s over there,” he said with a wave of his hand. Vistas of sea could be glimpsed through arched openings. “I’ll give you a tour in the morning.” He went along the colonnaded passage, opening doors and switching on lights.

  The rooms were furnished with handsome old Provençal pieces and fabrics in cool colors and white. There were vases of flowers everywhere. Stuart went to a centrally located bar cupboard and threw open the doors.

  “Now in theory, there’s liquor and ice in here,” he said, “but since I’ve just got here I don’t know much more about it than you do.” He found everything where he expected it to be while the others wandered about exclaiming with admiration. He put out drinks and told Pat to take her pick of the bedrooms. He sank into a chaise longue in the courtyard and decided that he would never be able to move again. Toni stood nearby. The drive in the dark had been a break in continuity and Stuart looked at him with fresh eyes. He seemed to have shed all resemblance to the exotic dancer he’d seen perform. He looked like a very handsome well-built country boy wearing rather eccentric clothes. The shadowy light toned down the golden curls. Stuart remembered that he was supposed to take him back to town.