He shall return to sleep once Rumlow has lain himself in bed. For the present, he studies the younger man and his mannerisms. He wonders what had kept him out in the city until such a late hour, but he does not ask, and he has several guesses besides. When a hand is offered, he takes it for a firm but brief shake.

“A pleasure, Monsieur Rumlow,” he answers. Then he adds with a touch of dryness, “It seems I bear quite a cumbersome name. You are not the first.”

But if his assumed name is somewhat resistant to being imprinted in one’s memory, then he minds not.