Henri lays a mournful hand over his heart. “Surely a face like mine would be recognisable even amongst a sea of others?” Nothing about his tone implies that he’s even a little bit serious about that.

He’s pretty sure that she sniffs him. It would be unsettling, but from what he has heard of this woman, he finds it more intriguing than anything else. There’s a brief moment where he wonders what, exactly, she picked up from him.

He gives her a short bow of acknowledgment. “Ah. If you care about any of that, you will find it out for yourself, I am sure.” And judging reactions before people know his whole sordid history is a hobby of his. It is difficult, to find entertainment in Aorlind otherwise. His eyebrows skate up his forehead. “You shame me, mademoiselle. I would never be so cruel as to lie about a lady’s hair. Just because you remain equally lovely does not mean you are lovely in the same way.”