At his humming, her fingers could not help but move to the keys and play along with his humming.  Her smile matched her eyes as the melody tripped through her fingertips.  "Oh, Ave Maria is lovely as well, but definitely in a different kind of setting.  I do like the melodies that take your heart and take it away.  Ave Maria and it's like are more about proper notes and precision.  There is emotional, yes, but not the same to those that make you feel like you are floating and waving through the music."  She frowned trying to figure out how to explain how it made her feel.  She enjoyed playing all of it, but there were some that just called to her.

She enjoyed having the chance to about music to someone else that loved it as she did.  Others talked about music like it was required and had almost memorized the "proper" responses and comments that were socially approved of.  She glanced at him.  "Do you enjoy folk music?  Some of the nuns that I spent time with were from small places and not raised as I was, and they taught me a few.  They were fun and ... well if I could have tapped my feet, I would have."

She tilted her head at his not having space for the dancing yet.  "That would make a difference.  I would have to be able to have my maid and a male servant help lift the chair if it has stairs.  Then of course there are places that a lady should not be seen in, of course."  She was actually considering it.  The maid frowned all the deeper.

She looked to her maid again, and shush her though the woman had not said anything.  "I can already see what you would say."  She said to the other woman.  "I am twenty years old and I am being encouraged to get out of the house more and meet people.  This covers both of those directions I keep being given."  She looked back to Cheri.

Her spirit was getting stronger as she accepted her leg situation more and more.  Though was that good in this case or not?  That was still to be seen.  "Given it is a proper location and one I can physically get into, I would like to play for you."  She nodded firmly.

Chéri smiled more clearly as she followed him, pressing the top of his hand against his own cheek. “I figured as much. Your music probably belongs to the type that is made prettier by mistakes.” The thought just came out, without too much thinking -as usual-.

Chéri never thought about it the right way to talk about anything: the world of words was such a foreign territory, any form of verbal expression was mostly a hem on an already well woven fabric of movements, faces and inarticulate sounds. Everything that went beyond that was hard and became blurred, as if too far away from him to be properly studied. Chéri looked up and said “I have some songs poor people sing that I like. I don’t know if here they would be folk song, it seems that as soon as something isn’t in English it is immediately odd and no more music of the people.” He explained, having a ague idea of what folk might refer to “Why? Do you want to learn some of the music of my people?” He asked, as if she could have guess he was Basque.

Chéri nodded “I am not bothered by more people being there, I’m used to be watched. They might ge bored, but you pay them for that, no?” Ah yes, the very elegant subject of money. The illusion of wealth and status was slipping away -but then again, Chéri had openly admitted to being a performer, so it was probably gone already-.

Regarding the where, Chéri knew he had one, maybe two places that would accept him hosting whatever sort of situation and neither sounded appropriate for a lady, not even remotely, at least in his head.

And then Jane turned to the woman who accompanied her. Presumably, the conversation happened in English, so Chéri could not understand. A little bit tense, he waited, until finally she gave him good news. Chéri placed both his hands where he believed the heart was and bowed in gratitude, looking at her with enthusiasm. “Hurray! Now we just have to think of a place.” And in his case, of a name respectable enough that he could give, since they hadn’t been introduced at all and “Mr Chéri” was not going to do.

She glanced at him not sure about the comment of mistakes.  However, then on the talk of folk music.  She tried to think of a way to explain.  "Hearing music that people of various cultures enjoy and the sound of it makes them want to dance, that is more organic."  She frowned trying to explain.  "Things not sung or played only in parlors and on stages.  I am not sure how to explain it.  I like to learn it all, and though I can not tap my toes to it, I enjoy feeling the need to dance as I hear it or play it."  She looked at him trying to explain the kinds of music that she had been speaking of.

"Yes, we have to have an appropriate place."  She agreed.  Then something he said earlier caught her mind and brought her back around to it.

"What is the music of your people?"  She asked quite curious and wanted to hear it.  "Where are you from?"  She blushed finally and raised a hand to her lips.  "We have not been properly introduced, have we.  It should be done by someone else that knows one of us.  However," she glanced at her maid who frowned and shook her head.  She would not introduce the two.

She then gave a frown back to the maid and looked over for the male servant and waved him over.  "Tom would you please introduce me to the gentleman?"  It was completely not along the rules of things, but Tom had seen the interaction and liked to make the maid irritated at him.  He had a crush on her, and teasing her was his way of flirting.  So, he stood near Jane and Cheri and gave a light bow of his head.

"May I introduce Miss Jane Ripley."

Jane chuckled speaking to Cherie in French.  "I am having him introduce us, as my maid won't do it."

Then she translated what Tom said to Cheri then indicated that he should give his name to Tom, so it could be done properly in return.

Chéri took a long time to think about what to answer and in the end he concluded “You can dance. Not how I dance -most people can’t do that-, not how most would think to dance, but you can dance. You can move your arms and if you can move your chair on your own, you can dance. I have seen it done before. But, you need a chair you can move.” Chéri was speaking out of turn, probably, but it wasn’t a novelty for him.

Chéri nodded and started thinking. And while he did that, Jane started to ask a lot of things, included requesting following a lot of rules that he wasn’t sure he understood that. He knew proper women did not just speak to people and he knew he needed the *right* way to do it, or he would have scared her, as it often happened. So he took time. The man came ad Chéri tried not to laughed about any flirting. Chéri approved and repeated “Jane Ripley. Mademoiselle?” He didn’t know the English word for it yet.

The man asked for a name back. Chéri wasn’t sure what to give, since he lacked… well, anything he would really call a name. This had been a problem before, but it could be a deal breaker, so he recycled something someone else had made up for him. “Monsieur Pierre” Was that a name? A surname? We were just going to go with that. Darling wasn’t suitable for Jane, even he knew that.

A look of surprise spread over Jane's delicate features.  "I had not thought of that.  Flying my arms around to the music I was hearing would draw a lot of attention though."  She was getting used to the idea of people staring at her in her chair.  "A moving chair, like this one?"  She indicated her wickered rolling chair.  "I can push the wheels somewhat, but mainly that tires me out.  So, I have my maid or in rough pathways the manservant."  She explained.  "I would not be able to wave my arms around too much unless someone else was pushing it."  She reasoned as she tried to imagine it.

She nodded.  "Miss in English, but Mademoiselle works as well.  Most know that word in English as well."  She explained.  Then smiled with a polite nod.  "It is nice to meet you, Monsieur Pierre.  Though it is only fair for me to know your full name as well.  We did give you my full name."  She teased lightly, in a friendly manner.  "Though if you do not wish to tell me that is okay as well."  She assured him. 

The man that had done the introductions went back as she waved him with a 'thank you', and frown back to her maid that was still not happy about it. 
'

Chéri nodded but also pointed out “Wouldn’t any dancing attract a lot of attention? Isn’t it meant to?” Then he shook his head “No, I think it should have a form a little different. Something lighter, more like a bike, but where you can sit. It needs to be something you can dance in, so you need to be able to decide to move on your own.” Chéri suggested, rubbing his chin with a pondering look.

Chéri nodded, learning that yes, that was the correct word, but also that he could refer to her as an unmarried woman, not a married one. He was just making sure.

And now, Monsieur Pierre? What was your complete name? Pierre Pierre, like Humbert Humbert but worse? Chéri was not sure what to make of it, so he came up with something fairly acceptable with an odd origin “Guy Pierre,” he said, trying not to think to much about how it sounded. He wanted to be nice to Jane, non threatening. She had given him the hope of having the chance to dance again, of having something comforting to resort to in this place that was still almost entirely stranger to him. So he opted for a comforting lie.

Chéri also nodded at the man. He also added “I am afraid I don’t have a calling card,” he knew those were necessary for fancy people and mentioning it before she could mention it was a good idea.

"A bicycle?  Oh, don't those require legs that work?"  She asked looking disappointed.  Though her eyes looked away like imagining what it might be like with a smile.  "I would like to dance again.   To be able to control where I go without help, oh how wonderful that would be."

"To ride my horses again, to say the truth, would also be wonderful.  Though my parents don't even want me to go to the stables now.  I can control a small carriage but I am not to get them ready."  She explained.  Then indicated her inert legs.  "I fell during a ride and they fear I might be hurt again.  They want me to go out among people again but I demand some independence." 

She bit her bottom lip.  "I was hoping they would say no, to be honest, but now that I have started getting out, I am enjoying it."  She admitted, and the idea of playing the piano for Cheri was an excitement for her.

"Monsieur Guy Piere. "  She nodded with a friendly smile.  "It is very nice to meet you."  At the idea of the card, she gave a thoughtful expression.  "Let me see about getting you some.  That way if my family ever needs to see one we will have them.  That way I can pay you back for letting me play for you."  She gave him a look of hopefulness, then a frown.  "You are from France, of course, but what city?"  She asked, as she was sure there would be questions, and she hated to wish to have no real information about the other young man.

Chéri, who at this point was somehow very invested in the conversation nodded “Yes, like a bicycle, but that you can operate with your hands! It has to be really light, so you can work it without too many difficulties.” And just like that, Chéri had decided to appoint himself engineer.

Chéri seemed really impressed by the idea of controlling a small carriage. Chéri shrugged “Well, it’s hard for you to go out if you are not allowed independence.” He agreed, smiling lightly. He didn’t seem to think too much of it.

He also smiled with a relieved expression “You get to speak French and play piano for strangers with a beautiful voice!” He joked, encouragingly “who knows what else the world might have in store for you…” he added. The card situation was somewhat troubling. How will he pull off THAT. He reminded himself to ask Sonia about that. The list of things he needed to ask Sonia was getting longer and longer. Maybe he could ask for a fake address to a friend.

He imagined himself pretending to live in Darius’s house. He almost laughed. “You can leave your correspondence for me here, for now, until the situation has be handles, perhaps?” Chéri suggested. Chéri cleared his throat “Oh, from Paris, of course!” Chéri did sound Parisian, but it wasn’t the refined version of Parisian, but one needed a very fine hear to notice that and Chéri wasn’t going to explain about Labourdin, Pays Basque and all those little regional influences that made him less than a perfect Parisian.