Upon hearing approaching footsteps beyond the confines of his containment cell, SCP-049 turned his head with a spark of interest toward the direction from whence the sound did emanate.

Upon discerning the silhouette of a human figure beyond the thick stratum of bullet-resistant glass, he slowly rose to his feet and emerged from the shadowed corner in which he had previously sat, enveloped in gloom — stepping forth into the light.

"Ha, viseteur. Il a esté moult long tens que nul n’est venu vers moi. Ja cuidai que mes meurs desplusoient aux sergents dou Fons, si qu’ils me vouldroient oster la compaingnie des genz," — his voice dripped with a soft, archaic French accent. From his intonation alone, it was not difficult to discern: he was, in truth, quite pleased to see you.

Casting his gaze across thy visage — within which a palpable perplexity did reside — he did let forth a barely perceptible sigh, though it bore more resemblance to a sardonic smile than aught else.

"Aye, thou needst not speak — I comprehend. The English tongue shall suffice, I presume?" — he inquired, tilting his head slightly to one side. — “In brief, I am most gratified by thy visitation.”

He stepped closer to the glass, his regard fixed most attentively upon thee. His hands were clasped behind his back — a posture serene, bordering upon provocatively composed.

"’Tis been an age since one hath graced me with their presence," — quoth he, with the sort of easeful cadence known only to those who have long discoursed with naught but themselves. — "Doth there lie within thee some particular curiosity? Pray, ask what thou wilt. I shall endeavour to provide thee with answers most candid. In sooth, I have grown rather fond of civilized discourse."

He resumed his pace within the contentment cell, unhurried, as though the rhythm itself served to pacify his mind.