Madame Charlot

There is a good cafe at the top of the Rue Charlot and we like having our omelettes, hot chocolate and croissants there late on a Sunday morning, sitting by the window and watching the world go by.

Last Sunday, there was a fascinating old woman who came and sat out on the terrace.  She was wearing a fur-lined dress and feathery hat right out of the 1920s.  She had a little dog, a scruffy grey terrier, that sat on the chair opposite her.   She began to have an intense conversation with the dog.

On the table she placed a pack of cigarettes and a packet of small cigars.  She had two lighters:  one with a zebra-striped pattern, the other with leopard spots.  She had a ritual, only the zebra lighter could be used for the cigar.  She smoked her cigarettes (light by the leopard lighter) through a long black lacquer cigarette holder.

Everything she did, every gesture, every motion was theatrical.  She seemed like she was on stage, in costume, giving a performance.  We couldn't take our eyes off her.  

We named her Madame Charlot and spent the rest of breakfast wondering who the hell she was and what kind of life she had lead.   We wondered which of us would claim her as a character for a story or novel, but then we backed off.  Who would ever believe such a person was real?