If there was one thing that could move Mabelle, the one thing that had convinced her that life had been living for so many years before she discovered a new purpose, it was art, and knowing that the paintings of other artists had been spared made her feel much better. It wasn't that she didn't think he could tell her work from that of a master, because she always felt it was glaringly obvious in comparison, but she hadn't imagined Michel the type to carefully go through each one to make sure he wasn't burning anything important, so that he had impressed her.
Mabelle looked up as Michel approached, not moving her footing even as he stood near her to flip through the paintings. "Good," she nodded with a suddenly pleased hint of a smile, "Will you be delivering them to the Louvre, then? I haven't had a chance to go yet, but they just received a new batch of recovered paintings from... the south of here, I believe." Mabelle could tell that excitement was beginning to leak into her usually neutral tone, and she cut herself off, looking away self-consciously. "Ah," she replied to the news of the family portraits, "I don't like seeing myself anyway."