He rather towers over her now. In so many other ways, though, he's the same boy who spent endless afternoons sliding down the banisters in her home. Weedy and well-dressed, curious and observant, with a face that lights up in a smile the moment he recognizes her. He's got a short stack of books cradled against his chest, but he maneuvers them under one arm.

"Madame Baudin," he says with a little bow. But that's a level of formality he's unwilling to keep up beyond greeting. He comes close enough to pull her into an embrace, adding, "You were so much taller in my memory."

She'd had two eyes as well - though it seems impolite to mention that here.