Again hesitating, the man reluctantly gave her a final nod. Nothing. Anything he would trust her to do would just have to come in time, but the idea of trusting her with anything seemed like something he'd never be able to do. He hardly trusted her to sleep in the same room. The only upper hand he had there was her current state. She did not look well and couldn't possibly have been capable of much even if she wanted to. And if anything did come up, throwing her out on the streets again for a few days would probably take care of the situation. Just so long as she didn't die, it would be fine. That probably should've said something about parts of his childhood with his uncle, but there were more pressing matters to worry about.
"Why?" The answer was obvious to see. She was struggling with her hair. Michel actually wasn't bothered by the idea of a woman having shorter hair as long as it was well kept. However, he was doubting her reasons for cutting it. If she was failing just because she was having difficulty with a few tangles, he was certainly not impressed. Frowning, he stood to search for his one comb, and his pair of scissors just in case. "Isn't there anything you really know how to do?" He wasn't entirely sure if it was really her behavior or the generic contempt for the rich that had been instilled him in over the years, but there was nothing right about raising a group of useless people. If he judged her at all, he was certainly blaming her deceased parents.