Perhaps the accursed script had done its work even better than Armand could have anticipated, better than Lestat would have imagined. Stoking Louis' hatred and anger and dread so brightly that he could not accept Lestat's improvised apology any better than he could see Lestat's attempt to rescue him.

An attempt only. He was still cast into a slow death. He was still rescued from it by Armand. Claudia is dead. What material difference exists?

Well, a profound one, it would seem.

"When?" he asks. Better to keep going, at least for tonight. They could stay on that stage until dawn, if they let it keep them.