The sound Lucius makes is arguably meant to be the beginnings of a laugh -- it doesn't really make it out of his chest, hitching partway and curling the corner of his mouth, and little more than that. Considering his own degrees of suppression and reserve, and to compare it towards that of more normal people, that must make this instance astoundingly funny.

"LeMat," he says, which signifies either testing this name for himself or implicit offer to pretend as well.

Still standing, too, despite the offer to join him -- although Lucius scopes over the table now, like a particularly overgrown and ill-content cat unsure of the offered accommodation. Eventually, he nudges back the nearest chair with the end of his cane, an eyebrow raising to himself in resign as he sits. "What on earth we'd have to discuss escapes me," he warns. But it's probably better than finding a separate table in the confines of the bar and pretending either of them aren't there until the other finishes his business.

And he was the one that wanted to see this up close for himself.