[ Grantaire merely shifts his gaze from Jehan, to the slightly charred facade of the home that apparently partially belongs to him, and back to Jehan again. There is absolutely no spark of recognition in his eyes. If anything, he only appears to be more befuddled. ]

Ought I to? Perhaps I should, but—I hope you will pardon me, monsieur, I do not even know you.

[ It seems to pain him and confuse him. Come to think of it, he really can’t remember much of anything, save for the words in his head now. ]

I suppose I should, if this is our house and not merely my house, and not merely your house.