Chocolat Read Online Free PDF Page B

There was no disapproval in her voice as she spoke, but a half laughing fatalism.
           “I hear our m’sieur le cure already has it in for you,” she added maliciously. “I suppose he thinks a chocolate shop is inappropriate in his square.”
           She gave me another of those quizzical, mocking glances. “Does he know you’re a witch?” she asked.
           Witch, witch. It’s the wrong word, but I knew what she meant.
           “What makes you think that?”
           “Oh, it’s obvious. Takes one to know one, I expect,” and she laughed, a sound like violins gone wild. “M’sieur le Cure doesn’t believe in magic,” she said. “Tell you the truth, I wouldn’t be so sure he even believes in God.” There was indulgent contempt in her voice. “He has a lot to learn, that man, even if he has got a degree in theology. And my silly daughter too. You don’t get degrees in life, do you?” I agreed that you didn’t, and enquired whether I knew her daughter.
           “I expect so. Caro Clairmont. The most empty-headed piece of foolishness in all of Lansquenet. Talk, talk, talk, and not a particle of sense.”
           She saw my smile and nodded cheerily. “Don’t worry, dear, at my age nothing much ends me any more. And she takes after her father, you know. That’s a great consolation.”
           She looked at me quizzically. “You don’t get much entertainment around here,” she observed. “Especially if you’re old.”
           She paused and peered at me again. “But with you I think maybe we’re in for a ‘ little amusement.”
           Her hand brushed mine like a cool breath. I tried to catch her thoughts, to see if she was making fun of me, but ail I felt was humour and kindness.
           “It’s only a chocolate shop,” I said with a smile.
           Armande Voizin chuckled. “You really must think I was born yesterday,” she observed.
           “Really, Madame Voizin—”
           “Call me Armande.”
           The black eyes snapped with amusement. “It makes me feel young.”
           “All right. But I really don’t see why—”
           “I know what wind you blew in on,” said Armande keenly. “I felt it. Mardi Gras, carnival day. Les Marauds was full of carnival people; gypsies, Spaniards, tinkers, pieds-noirs and undesirables. I knew you at once, you and your little girl what are you calling yourselves this time?”
           “Vianne Rocher.” I smiled. “And this is Anouk.”
           “Anouk,” repeated Armande softly. “And the little grey friend — my eyes aren’t as good as they used to be — what is it? A cat? A squirrel?”
           Anouk shook her curly head. “He’s a rabbit,” she said with cheery scorn. “Called Pantoufle.”
           “Oh, a rabbit. Of course.” Armande gave me a sly wink. “You see, I know what wind you blew in on. I’ve felt it myself once or twice. I may be old, but no-one can pull the wool over my eyes. No-one at all.”
           I nodded. “Maybe that’s true,” I said. “Come over to La Praline one day; I know everyone’s favourite. I’ll treat you to a big box of yours.”
           Armande laughed. “Oh, I’m not allowed chocolate. Caro and that idiot doctor won’t allow it. Or anything else I might enjoy,” she added wryly. “First smoking, then alcohol, now this…God knows, if I gave up breathing perhaps I might live for ever.”
           She gave a snort of laughter, but it had a tired sound, and I saw her raise a hand to her chest in a clutching gesture eerily reminiscent of Josephine Muscat. “I’m not blaming them, exactly,” she said. “It’s just their way. Protection — from everything. From life. From death.” She gave a grin which was suddenly very gamine in spite of the wrinkles.
           “I might call in to see you anyway,” she said. “If only to