The Sentinels bal du moulin de la galette

Such skills were not taught to Renoir. He was no sleuth, no warrior, not even a proper diplomat - though that was the attempt with his own tutelage. He knew how to speak and use his words, but not his body. There were many things for him to learn. In watching the dark man, he wondered of the many things that they could teach each other — but that thought was so abrupt and out-of-place that he felt suddenly spotlighted, although he was only self-conscious. Yet when the man complimented him in his next breath, Renoir could not help but intake a sharp little breath and bow his head, momentarily stunned.

Women recieved such comments, not men. His home had been quite liberal, but even so, he was not meant to be beautiful and did not expect the kind words. He did not hide from them either, though, and felt a pleasant thrumming in his breast. mèsi - he awkwardly offered, yet still he was looking away, finding a shyness which had never really been an issue before. He could not let the conversation wane for long as it was very rude, and Renoir was many things but he refused outright any impropriety.

It took a moment, but he roused enough courage to say, lakay ou se trè bèl, menm apre tanpèt la nan tout bèt vivan. Perhaps that would lead the man away to some other topic, as Renoir was enjoying this hold of his attention far too much, and felt it only right to deviate.