Laurent didn't stare. He was too well-bred for that. He did, however, observe. His mask faced the wall, so that his captive was in his periphery. Guarding rather than watching.

And yet, his eyes flicked over frequently, noticing the well-formed body, the dazzling smile. "I don't like it," he responded, answering the question because there was no reason not to answer it.

He felt restless in his own skin. Suddenly he was unsure of how to hold himself, of where to put his hands. He sat very straight, shoulders and back tense, waiting for his prisoner to be finished.

"I'll fetch you clean clothes," Laurent decided, and rose. "Don't leave this room."

Walking out without waiting for a response, Laurent walked down to the end of the hallway, the last possible place he could see the doorway, and hesitated a moment. The nobleman didn't emerge. Laurent continued along his way.

He was quick about it. The Phantom had kept a wide array of clothes and costumes. Some of them fit Laurent, though they draped a bit on his smaller frame. The young man's shoulders were about as broad, and therefore the clothes should suffice.

Choosing a plain white shirt and black trousers, Laurent quickly returned, heart pounding with fear that his captive would have fled.