He places his hand flatly against her upper arm, the way they interact most often - cold, barren touches. If one were to ask the media, it's because she is a cold, barren woman and by proxy, it translates to her relations. No one is currently throwing bones to the newspapers or the tabloids, however. They are standing here in secrecy, Jean Louis and she - in the relative privacy of Father's home, sharing naught but a moment of awkward silence in the wake of Jean Louis' words. Mireille knows about symbolic value, knows about symbols and tokens, knows even the inherent message in most that she has ever been presented with. As she has had to emphasise time and again in the face of Florian's proposals, the media's probing questions, Mother's dismay - marriage has never meant anything of importance to her. There is nothing she can't have while unmarried that marriage would gain her, except for a changed name. And in politics the recognisability of your name matters more so than anything else. She has been Mireille Barrault for 25 years, she has no desire to see this change. Not for Florian's sake and certainly not for Jean Louis'. Nor for her own.

Stepping to the side, his hand falling away, Mireille looks at him directly. "The ring would be a symbol and I'd only become another. To you." There's the slightest indication of a pause, but not long enough to allow him to speak. Once Jean Louis starts speaking, it can be very difficult to make him stop again and it really is getting late. She needs to get home. Needs the beauty sleep that her nation is so relying on. She holds enough symbolic significance as a politician, she doesn't need to be a symbol to her partner, be it Florian or -- Her lips pressing into a thin line, she glances towards the door. Away from Jean Louis.

"One must hope I can stay a beautiful symbol, then. Regardless of how late you've kept me up."