He stood for a moment, eyes following her, as she went forth, then he grinned - mostly at himself - and followed her into the castle proper. He took the time to admire architechtural details and whatever pieces of art were present. He folded up the sunglasses and put them in the chest pocket of his blazer.
"
A few people," he ventured, as they went further inside. "
That could explain why the surrounding countryside is, or was, crawling with des chasseurs. Hunters. I stumbled across a small party some five'ish miles from here, going in the wrong direction. Or right direction, as it were. Away from here. Couldn't really let them be. I made something beautiful out of them. Just like that time in Kâmpŭchéa. Then I tidied up, of course, and buried the bits. Nothing calls more hunters like grisly displays of guts for guirlandes, as you know" he prattled on, seemlessly slipping into French a few times.
Cocking an eyebrow, he continued. "
One of these few people wouldn't happen to be that scrumptious sister I heard so much about, last time? If she's here, I might as well walk out the door now. Coming between the Venom sisters would be only slightly less of a bad move, than being...oh, say on the Messines-Wytschaete ridge somewhere around June 7th 1917."
He was practically grinning from ear to ear, when he spoke and showed no hurry to leave at all, regardless of how she may reply.
Then he stopped dead and gazed at a particular painting over a door, framed by the ubiquitous velvet curtains.
His tone shifted to somewhere between anger and envy.
"
You utter and complete ... You got that one?! It was reported burnt by the Nazis, wasn't it? And there it is, just like that. Like it's nothing really special."
He raised his arms partly, then let them drop to his sides. He muttered something under his breath and by the tone, it wasn't particularly nice words. Fortunately, they were too garbled for anyone to hear their meaning.
A couple of heart beats later, and he was smiling again.