Well-- it seems that Dedue's not going to be the one carrying the food. Claude is quick enough to get to the tray before he does, so Dedue resigns himself to bearing only the tea set. It is, at least, a lovely spring day outside, one that he finds quite agreeable to take tea in. While Claude sets down the snacks, Dedue sets the teacups and saucers down, then pours out an appropriate measure of tea into each.

It allows him a moment to consider what Claude has asked him, and how he will respond to it. On one hand, his usual response to such questions are to diminish, to downplay the issue and remove attention from himself. On the other, he had agreed to take Claude's inquiries with the same openness as he asked Claude to take his-- as Felix might say-- mother-henning. And Claude is too clever by half to be easily taken in by Dedue's deflections, especially not when he's looking for it.

Honesty, then, is the surest path.

"I was considering the roses," he says. "I have some concern for the potted bushes. Though they are supposed to be a hardy breed, they did not have much time to become well established, and winter can kill even well-prepared plants."

The potted ones-- Lorenz's miniature violets.