Clopin gave the Doctor a small, fond smile. Perhaps he couldn't really make sincerely happy smiles anymore, but fondness? Affection? He was more than capable of that. "Perhaps business isn't quite as booming as he's used to. Can't help but feel that it's only deserved."
The man nodded in thanks, putting on the tunic carefully--maybe if he asked really nicely, one of the female slaves would sew some of the tears in his other clothes--and then flashing another gap-toothed grin, just a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "I'll do my best, mon ami, but I have a nasty habit of getting into trouble." As if that needed saying.
He pulled himself up, his movements a little stiff, and then sat on the edge of his cot, picking up his lute from its foot. That was one thing he was glad for. His use as a slave often lay more in his ability to play music and perform than in his ability to do simple grunt work. In order to keep one's slave good at music, one has to allow the slave to keep his instrument so he can practice and stay sharp.
He started tuning the instrument, plucking the strings and humming softly. "You're tense, my friend. Sit with me and relax. The work is over for the day."