He hesitated, hating that he looked weak in front of anyone. It had little to do with her being a woman; in fact, were she a man, he would have been much more likely to try and stand strong and firm. But he wasn't raised to show weaknesses. He was taught from a very early age to stand on his own. The man his father had turned him into certainly wouldn't be seen falling over himself.
Still, it was saying something that she'd found him, she who was obviously still new to their surroundings and yet French, like himself. That helped. "Are you more comfortable speaking in French, then?" he asked her curiously, switching languages on her. Obviously if she'd been born in Paris and living in Salon-de-Province, she knew the language. The accent was there, as obvious and distinct as his own. And if she hadn't been there but a week, maybe she, like him, was more comfortable in their native language.
And learning about a time jump definitely required he had a clear head. Throwing in a language gap simply made things that much more difficult to follow. Still, he did as she asked and took his seat again, though grudgingly, more like a little boy doing as his mother had asked than a confident soldier, used to leading the people.
Easing himself back down in a cool patch of grass, he glanced up at Belle before gesturing to join him. "My apologies," he continued, now speaking French. "But I must admit, you look a bit intimidating all the way up there." And he gave her a lopsided grin, the first smile he'd given anyone in days, since the revolution truly began to take form.