He knew her.

He stared for a moment and then swallowed and smiled, remembering his manners. "Perdon, I just, I have seen you before, Miss Hargreeves. In my paintings." He straightened up a bit more. "Isaac Mendez." He offered a hand out to her. "I've come to suspect I was born on the first of October, nineteen eighty nine. Whatever my parents have told me."