Chocolat

had red hair and a green bandanna to keep it out of his fac

turns towards me, and I see that he too is a stranger, with the high cheekbones and pale eyes of the North and long pianist's fingers resting on the silver cross which hangs from his neck.

black figure brings up the rear. At first I take him for a part of the parade – the Plague Doctor, maybe – but as he approaches I recognize the old-fashioned soutane of the country priest. He is in his thirties, though from a distance his rigid stance makes him seem older.

child in yellow wellingtons and sky-blue mac.

The woman, her long hair tucked into the collar of her orange coat, a long silk scarf fluttering at her throat;

elderly small-featured man, wearing a felt hat rather than the round beret more common to the region, picks up the sad brown dog

Lansquenet-sous-Tannes, two hundred souls at most, no more than a blip on the fast road between Toulouse and Bordeaux.

her eyes, which are the blue-green of the Earth

Anouk watches, eyes wide, a yellow balloon in one hand and a toy trumpet in the other, from between a shopping-basket and a sad brown dog.

know everyone's favourite. Trust me, this is yours.’