Cyrano glances up from his notebook at the slender young woman standing over his table, looking for all the world like a scared fawn about to bolt...but there's too much steel in her eyes for that.

Feeling a wave of sympathy, Cyrano nods, gesturing to the other chair at his tiny table.

"Word of advice, mademoiselle," he replied in a thick Scottish brogue despite his flawless use of French, "if you're lookin' for air in a room like this? You're doin' it wrong."

With a barely there smile, he slid his wine glass towards her in silent offering.