"Ah, nearly eighty years ago," Lestat says, leaning back in the hold Louis has on him to square on him a look. "I wonder what life might have been like at the time, for your passion to fail you. Such a mystery, and we may never know."

Goading, but he keeps his tone gentle, playful, including the innocence and impression of wounded feeling he loads into his voice when he adds, "You don't wish to take pictures of me?"