[center][i][b][h1]Joséphine B. L’Hôte[/h1][/b][/i][/center][hr][i]
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Joséphine listened intently to M. Herbachet’s explanation of the circumstances, carefully avoiding bringing the cognac into her gaze. It simply wasn’t worth trifling with gloves over a ceremonial nip. With subtle nods and measured head tilts, she made an effort to deliver the distinct impression that, though the promise of the inheritance itself was certainly compelling, the little story that came with the affair was by no means to be discounted. As M. Herbachet explained the terms of the inheritance, an amused little huff escaped Joséphine’s nose. Truly, was such a thing even a term? Spending the night in Loudon seemed only sensible anyway, for once this matter here was concluded, it would already be late enough in the afternoon that a train to Lyon would be of some inconvenience, to say nothing of the distinct risk of a particularly late supper without an appropriate goûter to keep the day on a sensible course.

An amused little smile grew on Joséphine’s lips as she considered the matter of the [i]term[/i]—or, in more accurate terms, [i]thematic accommodations[/i]—which came coupled with the inheritance. And then, just then, M. Herbachet offered a sweetener to the saccharine pot! 

[color=#d473d4]« Thank you, Monsieur! »[/color] Joséphine chirped as she inspected the ring. For a moment, she found herself utterly compelled by the gentle beauty of the ring, but no sooner had the ring made its way into her hand than it had occurred to her that the invitation to the ring was perhaps better understood as an elegant means to elicit introductions in a less unfortunately direct way than had been previously alluded to by M. Herbachet.

Without further hesitation, she rose from her seat, offered a slight curtsy, and gazed across the room.

[color=#d473d4]« I suppose this might be an appropriate cue to begin introductions, »[/color] she began, [color=#d473d4]« Good afternoon, everyone. My name is Joséphine L’Hôte—L’Hôte as in the host of a gathering, that is.»[/color]

Joséphine’s diction was methodical and careful, offering the distinct impression that there had been some extensive effort in her past to cultivate it. Most saliently, little glimmers of foreignness, provinciality, or perhaps simple old-fashionedness wriggled their way into her otherwise radio-perfect elocution in the form of her pronunciation of  « r », for her tongue seemed incorrigibly prone to bringing it forwards to a little trill, rather than backwards into a more Parisian uvular sound. 

[color=#d473d4]« I might like to mention here that I—Oh, wouldn’t you know it? »[/color] she interrupted herself, having fiddled with the ring and slid it over her kid glove onto her left ring finger, [color=#d473d4]« How perfectly it fits! Auspicious, indeed… But, ah, I had meant to say that I come from New Orleans and have found myself engaged in postsecondary education at the faculty of Letters in the University of Lyon. I am most looking forward to making your acquaintances. »[/color]