A relief, clearly, transparent in the longer breath in and a release in tension across his shoulders. If it occurs to him that Louis has found a loop hole by not promising to actually get into the coffin when it arrives—

Well, it doesn't. Lestat unfolds his arms, a swing of a gesture as he says, "Bon," and pivots to consider his own coffin. The small space they are to share, like friends might. Him first, then. He steps into it, lowers himself down. Scoots accordingly to rest back on an elbow, and then offer a hand out.

"It's been a while, hasn't it," is more sympathetic than a conscious attempt to figure out if Louis used to share like this with Armand. He means them. He means himself.