The accent, more than the word itself, told Beauty that he knew her language. Anyone could say mademoiselle, but only someone who knew French could accent it in such a way. She brightened. This made two people in as many days who could speak her native tongue. In the next moment, he confirmed what she was sure she already knew: they certainly hadn't met.
"Welcome to The City, Logan," she said warmly. "How have you been getting along?"
She knew, better than perhaps others, that the arrival was difficult sometimes. A shadow of concern slid across her face, then. Was that why he was here? She hadn't known many who'd struggled so hard as she - but she'd never brought her troubles to a bar to resolve. Then, she'd drowned herself in tea and books -- and perhaps that was her intoxicant of choice, the joy of words and the comfort of a familiar steaming cup in her hands.
Her focus on him hadn't wavered. He didn't seem to be in any trouble, but if he were, she wanted very much to help him. That was not a new feeling, but it'd never been so strong. "Can I do anything for you?" she asked directly.