"A most splendid volume, Madame...from the time of...Monsieur Nicolas Flamel.."
"That is not possible...."
"Ahhh, non...I am making the small chicanery," the man winked. "Petrenelle..."
"You mean Perenelle," Marie Negre teased back. "That was the name of Monsieur Flamel's wife, was it not?"
"Ahh, I see that by les pommes bleus you know your alchimie very well...a glass of Château Margaux for our pretty friend, here all the way from...a long way away. Now, the book," he sighed, soon joined by a jolly woman who sported a cotton flowered dress and matching kerchief, indeed carrying a glass of wine. "You will take this book that I show you here, go to the Rue Cambon and enter the shop of Mademoiselle Chanel, ça va? There you will be met by our friend, the gypsy lady Esmerelda..."
"Monsieur, Madame, merci pour le vin...mais...what book am I supposed to take? And where did Olivia go? And why do I feel dizzy?"
"How is the wine?" Madame P chirped, urging 22 to finish the tasty libation in a single swallow.
