[Would he have earned that teasing a month ago? He doubts it. He doubts he'd have even gotten to see such a smile, because Bruno isn't the type to simply give them out like that. You have to earn them, and so it's all the more thrilling each time Polnareff manages to get one.

He abandons his empty wine glass on the bed in favor of pressing a hand to his chest, innocent as anything.]

French is the language of love, mon ami-- no one would blame you for preferring it. But! Your secret is safe with me.

[A few seconds-- and then, okay, he has to finish the lesson, so:]

Right. So now you've gotten them back to your place, you've told them what you want-- so, afterwards, you say: C'etait formidable-- a la meme heure demain?