[ Lestat doesn't pry further, but a response like that does fan the flames of his own curiosity, albeit subtly. Whether the young man standing before him is merely speaking of individuals who are uniquely intriguing from the Balfours or something else altogether, he can't be certain, but inquiring along those lines would stray too far from the subject they're already pursuing.

His brows quirk, with amusement, at the relatively seamless manner by which Matt switches into French. It's not as though he makes any great effort to hide his own origins, his accent readily identifiable in a place like New Orleans, but somewhat less conspicuous here, on this estate. ]

I should think something along the lines of... Une saison en enfer would be more fitting, if a bit too on the mark.

[ While Lestat had not taught himself to read until after being turned, he had made an effort to consume widely, to have a sense of precisely what he had missed out on — but he doesn't consider himself much of a reader, or at least not as voracious of one as Louis. ]

Is reading how you intend to pass the time here?