"Oh, is he the one?" My grandmother was as surprised as I.

"Didn't you know?"

"I thought Aunty was talking about a young man.

"A young man! Why, this boy isn't thirty. Hardly twenty-eight. Really!"

So, it was he! If only I had known I'd have looked more closely. But I wondered why he hadn't impressed

me more.

"He has beautiful black eyes," I finally said, "but he didn't smile

once.

"That's true. He's an extremely reserved boy. With everybody, I mean. Personally, I like it. I suppose that's just the way he is. So many women are chasing after him I he has to act like that.'

guess

My grandmother glanced at me and felt I wasn't particularly interested. I was vaguely afraid I had disappointed her.

"I'll give him a good look later when I go back for the veal," I dutifully promised.

She laughed.

"If you want to, but you really don't have to."

She was still chuckling over my answer when we went into the bakery. The proprietress greeted us with her usual friendliness. "Commercial smile" my aunt always grumbled. I myself thought a never-failing pleasantly offered commercial smile was as good as any other.

"Your sponge cakes are ready, Madame Gerlan. The boy asked me if he should make the whole series of moulds. I said yes. But that's up to you. There are five, four of them crown-shaped."

"That's all right. But there is something more important than sponge cakes. I forgot to ask you to keep a round loaf of whole-wheat bread for me. My son's always asking for one.

"A round loaf?" repeated the

one

bakery woman thoughtfully. "The whole batch of them's spoken for and may have been sent out. I'll see if any are left."

She walked toward the bakeroom stairway. I followed her automatically.

"Pierre?" "Yes?"

"Just a minute." "Coming!"

A clear joyful voice had replied. My interest was aroused and I waited expectantly at the top of the stairs. The upper steps were flooded with sunlight, the bottom ones in shadow save when the opening oven door threw out a red glow.

Then I saw the most radiant apparition: a pale-blond young man, slender, naked to the waist, wearing white canvas trousers that fitted tightly around his hips and buttocks. He was leaning forward a little to speak to his employer and his golden hair reflected the light.

They talked together in low voices and agreed to cut in two one of the big round loaves that had been set aside for the Travellers' Hotel. "Bring it up, will you please?"

In three bounds he was with us, half-naked, smiling, entirely at ease. With a little contraction in my stomach, I kept looking at his greenishblue eyes, his well muscled but graceful shoulders, his chest powdered with flower and the dew of perspiration moistening his forehead. He was quite aware of my interest and, while he was slicing the loaf and weighing each half, he smiled at me pleasantly.

"But I know you," said my grandmother suddenly, as if trying to remember.

"Why yes," put in the bakery woman. "Pierrot, the boy who was with us all one winter. When he was eighteen, he enlisted in the navy. Now he's done his three years and has come back to us.'

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"I suppose you went all over the