[ There’s a Byerly Rutyer Solo Performance stored on the crystal in Bastien’s pocket. A ballad in incomprehensible Antivan—gruesome, probably, if he could understand any of it, but still a bit of brightness for nights when wind assaults the walls and windows and there’s thunder in the distance.

But that was only the once, and not really what she means, so Bastien says, ]

He doesn’t, that I know of. If we made little programs, do you think he would be charmed or think we were silly? [ Poised with pastry ready to eat, he answers his own question. ] Both.