His greeting, a mix of charm and flippancy, drew a soft, amused laugh from her lips. "Perhaps I did," she replied, her voice carrying a lightness that matched the sparkle in her eyes. "Though this time, I may be exploring less of the city and more of the company it offers." She paused, a playful tilt to her head as she took in the scene around them. The hum of the opera, the swell of the orchestra, and the vibrant swirl of Parisian society framed their meeting like something from a book - a book one didn't discuss in polite society but a book none the less.

The formality with which he’d then formally greeted her, bowing and all, amused her, especially in contrast to their more frank exchange last time. She appreciated the shift, though—a sign that beneath his nonchalant exterior, Samuel Griffith respected or at least knew the game that society expected them to play.

"But I must confess, Monsieur Griffith," she continued, leaning in ever so slightly, lowering her voice to match the conspiratorial tone they’d once shared. "I did not expect to find you at an opera. You seem more like the sort to avoid such... orchestrated affairs." Her eyes gleamed with mischief, daring him to reveal whether he was there by choice or necessity.

As she spoke, Vera couldn’t help but let her gaze linger on him, studying his features more closely. His presence here, in Paris, felt different—less restrained, more natural. She wondered, fleetingly, if this was closer to who he truly was. The soprano's voice reached a soaring note in the background. "Are you here to indulge in Parisian delights or simply to escape the solitude of your laboratory once more?"