Mireille took the fruit as it was offered, though her hands filled up rather rapidly and soon she was holding them more cupped into her arms against her stomach. Her own skirt was far too short to be of any use that way.

"Corsican. Though I never get to speak that anymore." She paused, and suddenly realized the woman might not know where it was, despite being French. With people being drawn from different times, it was hard to guess what anyone would know. "It is an island to the south of France, technically part of the country, but..." She shrugged and smiled. The Corsicans rarely considered themselves French, after all.