Arsène snorts a little at the boy’s words, but grins broadly. ‘Of course. Why would I want you to leave, if I just said hello to you?’
Weird kid.
‘I’m Arsène Paquet,’ he says nonchalantly, as if the boy would know the name. He doesn’t offer his hand, just stands regarding him in that proud but wary stance so often seen in disgruntled peasants. Or at least, it was seen. Hundreds of years ago.