Of all magnificent smells in the world, the smell of bread is Jean's favorite. Still a little discomfited by Eliot's continuous examination, he uncrosses his legs and leans in the oven's direction, breathing in with genuine pleasure. In that familiar smell, he finds a deeper sense of serenity that wasn't there before. His face relaxes in very subtle ways, a softness to his lips, a quiet depth to his eyes. It's clear that, for a few seconds, the inspector has gone far away, somewhere others would find hard to reach him.

"A button?" he asks, and pulls himself straight again, attention back on Eliot. He sort of expected something less mundane from the glamorous man. Why a button, of all things. "It's not moot, or at least I hope not. Have you ever hurled yourself from a cliff to wake up from an unpleasant dream?"

He may be looking for a proper cliff, though naturally the detail and vastness of his current psychosis suggest a much more complicated setting. Most likely, it won't be one factor, but a group of them. Regardless, Eliot is now part of it.

"Though I couldn't possibly call this unpleasant."