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           I deliver perfection... and don't brag about it! :D
           Bonjour, monsieur.
           Bonjour, monsieur. Say bonjour.
           Once upon a time...
           there was a quiet little village...
           in the French countryside...
           whose people believed in tranquilite.
           Tranquillity.
           Come Holy Ghost
           Creator come
           From Thy bright heavenly throne
           Come take possession of our souls
           And make them all Thine own
           Far from us drive our...
           If you lived in this village...
           you understood what was expected of you.
           ...unto us bring
           And through all...
           You knew your place in the scheme of things.
           And if you happened to forget, someone would help remind you.
           The season of Lent is upon us.
           This is, of course, a time of abstinence.
           Hopefully, also a time of reflection.
           Above all, let this be for us a time...
           a time of sincere penitence.
           It is a time to stand up and be counted.
           In this village...
           if you saw something you weren't supposed to see...
           you learned to look the other way.
           This is a time for Christ.
           When you reflect, he knows what you reflect on.
           If by chance...
           your hopes had been disappointed...
           you learned never to ask for more.
           He knows for what you must be forgiven.
           So in this Year of Our Lord,      things...
           So, through good times and bad...
           famine and feast...
           the villagers held fast to their traditions.
           Until...
           one winter day...
           a sly wind blew in from the north.
           Where will we find truth?
           Where do we start looking?
           Where will we find truth?
           We will find it...
           Who the hell are you?
           Oh, we're here about the patisserie.
           We'd like to rent it...
           and the apartment above.
           Where are you from?
           Well, we lived in Andalucia for a while.
           Let me see. Before that, Vienna...
           and before that...
           - Athens. - Pavia.
           Pantoufle hated it there.
           Pantoufle is her kangaroo.
           But he can't hop.
           Bad leg. War injury, huh?
           I'll expect you to keep it in good condition.
           What a nice town this is.
           Don't you think so, Mama?
           It's a lovely town.
           Mama, Pantoufle wants to know how long we can stay.
           Oh, tell Pantoufle not to worry.
           Time for bed. What story tonight?
           Pantoufle wants to hear about grandmere and grandpere.
             Not tonight, Anouska.
             You always say that.
             Tell about grandmere and grandpere.
             Not tonight.
             How about the princess and the pirates?
             OK.
             Prepare to fire!
             All hands on deck!
             Ready, aim...
             fire!
             Forgive the intrusion.
             It's a pleasure.
             Sorry, monsieur.
             - Pirate attack. - Of course.
             What is your name?
             Anouk. What's yours?
             I am the Comte de Reynaud at your service.
             A real one?
             Like the Comte de Monte Cristo?
             Ah-ah! He was not a real one.
             To what do we owe the honour of your visit?
             Well, as mayor of Lansquenet...
             I want to welcome you to the community...
             and to invite you to worship with us at mass on Sunday.
             That's very kind of you, but actually we don't attend.
             We're glad to be so near the church, though.
             We'll enjoy singing with the bells.
             The bells are not intended as an entertainment, Madame.
             They are a solemn call to worship for...
             Mademoiselle.
             I beg your pardon?
             Mademoiselle. I've never been married...
             but feel free to call me Vianne.
             I hope you'll stop by when I open for business next week.
             Yes, opening a patisserie during the holy Lenten fast.
             I could imagine better timing.
             Oh, but it's not going to be a patisserie.
             Then what do you intend to...
             It's a surprise.
             It was sweet of you to drop by.
             The Comte de Reynaud...
             was a student of history, and therefore a patient man.
             He trusted the wisdom of generations past.
             Like his ancestors, he watched over the little village...
             and led by his own example...
             hard work, modesty...
             self-discipline.
             I have completed the   th Century.
             Madame Clairmont.
             Your letter to the editor, Monsieur le Comte.
             This paragraph about family and tradition, it's...
             it's beautiful.
             Well, thank you.
             I value your opinion.
             May I ask...
             have you been in contact with your mother recently?
             Why?
             She seems to have rented out the patisserie.
             I haven't talked to my mother in quite a while.
             I'm sorry. I did not mean to pry.
             Oh, don't be silly.
             I have no secrets from you.
             How is the comtesse enjoying Venice?
             The comtesse? Oh, she's fine, thank you.
             Yes, she's enjoying it very much.
             Venice.
             I heard she was some kind of radical.
             I heard she's an atheist.
             What's that?
             Don't know.
             Come on, Charly.
             You should be more careful!
             - So sorry, Madame. - I'm sorry.
             - Are you all right? - I'm fine, I'm fine.
             I'm sorry. Do you want to come in and sit down?
             Please don't trouble yourself. I'm fine.
             No, it's no trouble. I'm Vianne Rocher.
             Caroline Clairmont.
             I'm the daughter of your landlady.
             This is my son Luc.
             Hello. And this is my Anouk.
             Come in, please, where it's warm.
             Try this.
             I bet you've never had hot chocolate...
             made from a     -year-old recipe.
             Thank you, but no. Luc.
             What's this?
             What do you see, Madame, in this?
             Sorry?
             What does it look like to you?
             Just say the first thing that comes into your mind.
             A woman riding a wild horse?
             - Ooh! - Oh, silly answer.
             Oh, no. There are no silly answers.
             The pepper triangle, that's for you.
             A tiny hint of chilli pepper...
             to play against the sweetness.
             Tangy, adventurous.
             What do you see?
             I see teeth.
             I see blood...
             and a skull.
             Very dark.
             Bitter chocolate. That's your favourite.
             Which will have to wait five weeks more.
             Lent. Thank you.
             We must run along. It's been nice to meet you.
             My pleasure.
             Pantoufle, come on! Pirate attack!
             How much are those chilli things, please?
              .   a box.
             - Could you put a ribbon on it? - Mm-hmm.
             Then I can pretend they are from my husband.
             Of course.
             Josephine Muscat.
             She waltzes to her own tune.
             And these are for your husband...
             unrefined cocoa nips from Guatemala...
             to awaken the passions.
             You've obviously never met my husband.
             You've obviously never tried these.
             Don't be pathetic.
             You've got a tiny error in problem six... Oh!
             It's nothing.
             It already stopped.
             Mother, the new teacher...
             wants us to correct our own mistakes.
             I didn't tell you how to correct the mistake...
             I just told you that you made one.
             Not hungry, Monsieur le Comte?
             The Lenten fast, Madame Rivet.
             Are you not supposed to eat something?
             It's all right. Leave it.
             May I help you?
             It's expensive. I don't waste money.
             I have a knack for guessing people's favourites.
             These are your favourites. Am I right?
             On the house.
             I think I'd better...
             Well...
             This certainly is different.
             Yes. Very different.
             Look at that.
             Oh. I'm so sorry.
             Bonjour, Monsieur Blerot.
             Bonjour, Madame Audel.
             No. Not that way, Charly.
             Come on.
             Come in! Please.
             Come on, boy.
             I've got something for you.
             What's your name?
             Charly. He's fourteen years old.
             That's ninety-eight in human years.
             No, I meant your name.
             Oh! Guillaume Blerot.
             You're very kind.
             He has so few pleasures left.
             Would you care...
             Would you care to buy...
             something special for your lady friend?
             Lady friend?
             The lovely woman your dog was so fond of.
             Her favourite is chocolate seashells.
             That's my guess.
             Oh, no. I mustn't.
             Madame Audel is in mourning for her husband.
             Oh, I'm sorry.
             When did he pass away?
             The war. German grenade.
             Well, it's been fifteen years since the war, so...
             Not that war.
             Monsieur Audel was killed on January        .
             It was quite a blow to Madame Audel.
             Apparently so.
             Bonjour, Mesdames!
             Bonjour, Monsieur le Comte.
             I wish all my tenants...
             were as reliable as you, Madame Drou.
             How is the comtesse enjoying Italy?
             Uh... She may be extending her trip.
             Ah, very nice.
             Have either of you seen the new shop across the square?
             The chocolaterie? Yes.
             Shameless, isn't it?
             The sheer nerve of the woman...
             opening a chocolaterie just in time for Lent.
             The woman is brazen.
             My heart goes out to that poor...
             illegitimate child of hers.
             You ain't nothin' but a hound dog
             Cryin' all the time
             You ain't nothin' but a hound dog
             Cryin' all the time
             Well, you ain't never caught no rabbit
             You ain't no friend of mine
             A new addition to the liturgy?
             I have a weakness for American music...
             Monsieur le Comte.
             How long have you been with us, Pere Henri?
             It will be five weeks.
             Your predecessor, Pere Michel, he was with us for five decades.
             Yes, well...
             I only pray I can live up to Pere Michel's example.
             Yes, that's my prayer also.
             I looked at your sermon, as you requested.
             I've made one or two notes.
             You're very kind.
             Not at all.
             Oh, one more thing.
             If you haven't seen the new chocolaterie...
             perhaps you might like to take a look.
             It's important to know one's enemy.
             Don't you think?
             Hey, where's my kiss?
             Watch where you're going!
             Excuse me!
             Hello. Morning.
             What's the decor, Early Mexican Brothel?
             No! If I need help, I'll ask for it.
             What do you see in it?
             Not a damn thing.
             Come on. It's a game.
             What do you see?
             I see a cranky old woman too tired to play games.
             Hmm. I've got just the thing for you.
             That little girl of yours, does she mind it?
             Mind what?
             The way you move her from place to place.
             Oh. She's doing fine. I think it's good for her.
             Seeing new places, meeting new people.
             Your cinnamon looks rancid.
             Well, it's not cinnamon.
             It's a special kind of chilli pepper.
             Chilli pepper in hot chocolate?
             Mm-hmm. It'll give you a lift.
             There.
             It tastes like...
             I don't know.
             Hop, hop, hop, hop!
             Where's your kangaroo?
             Hop, hop, hop! I'm your kangaroo now!
             Stop it!
             Anouk! In this school, we are civilized.
             We do not strike one another!
             But they insulted Pantoufle!
             I don't care. Didi, Dedou, come along!
             And be quiet.
             Where's Pantoufle?
             My mother says you don't have a father.
             Sure I do.
             We just don't know who he is.
             I was out all night with him.
             We swam naked in the Tannes.
             At dawn, when I returned to my house in my bed...
             my mother poked her head in and said...
             "Wake up, sleepyhead."
             She had no idea I'd been gone.
             Sure you didn't put booze in there?
             Nah. Something better.
             Perhaps you should give it to my daughter.
             Melt that chilly disposition of hers.
             You and Caroline have a problem?
             Do we have a problem?
             She won't let me see my grandson.
             I'm cut off from him.
             Why is that?
             Armande, why is that?
             Oh, I'm a bad influence.
             'Cause I don't like her treating him like a trained poodle.
             I swear, that boy doesn't piss without her permission.
             Ever since her husband died...
             she's been so...
             The way she frets and fusses over that boy.
             If only she'd let him run, let him breathe...
             let him live.
             But she worries that he will overexert himself.
             Not much danger of that.
             She won't even let the poor kid ride a bicycle.
             Do you think he'd like to see you?
             Do you have more of those bean thingies, please?
             Oh, sure.
             How many do you want?
             How many have you got?
             Jack of hearts is a better hunter than you, eh?
             Shoots the trump from right out under your nose.
             Are you Serge Muscat?
             The one and only. What's your pleasure?
             - Is your wife here? - Josephine?
             Well, it depends what you want with Josephine.
             Oh, she left this at my shop.
             Well, let me have it. I'll give it to her.
             Oh, no. I'll give it to her myself, thanks.
             Got to go. I'm late for supper.
             But the game's not over yet.
             Do you want to play?
             You know Belote?
             Of course I do.
             Sit down.
             What do you want?
             You forgot this.
             What do you want?
             To be your friend.
             I don't have friends. Does Serge know you're here?
             Does it matter?
             Do me a favour. Try one of these rose creams.
             Tell me if you think it's a little heavy on the Cointreau.
             I'm coming!
             He talks about you.
             He says you're indecent.
             He says you're an influence.
             You're a bad influence for someone like me...
             I don't have to listen to a word your husband has to say.
             No, not Serge.
             Not him.
             Reynaud, the mayor.
             He... he talks about you.
             Time to go.
             Look what I won.
             That's good. Come on.
             Bonsoir.
             You see? I said they'd be here.
             Luc, mind if I take a peek?
             Oh, um... It's not really...
             Show me. Oh.
             Well, I exaggerated the angle of the head.
             You draw beautifully.
             What's your going rate?
             What?
             To do a portrait.
             How much would you charge?
             Oh, I...
             I couldn't. I'm not really a...
             Fifty francs? Sound reasonable?
             It'd be great.
             When could you come by my shop?
             I'm... I'm really sorry, but...
             the comte forbids it.
             He spoke to Mama this morning...
             and a lot of others.
             Whatever you say.
             I wish I could. I really do.
             Thanks for showing me your drawing.
             Wait.
             Am I breaking any laws?
             Tell me? Am I hurting anyone?
             You're asking me my opinion?
             What exactly have you been telling people about me?
             Only the truth, mademoiselle.
             Well...
             if you're expecting me...
             to just shrivel up and blow away...
             you're going to be highly disappointed.
             Let me try and put this into perspective for you.
             The first Comte de Reynaud...
             expelled all the radical Huguenots from this village.
             You and your truffles present a far lesser challenge.
             You'll be out of business by Easter.
             I promise you that.
             How long have you been standing here?
             I forgot to pay you for something the other day.
             I'm sorry.
             No, it was a gift.
             No. People talk.
             No, people would lie about me.
             I don't steal.
             Not on purpose. L...
             Yes, I know.
             It's nice to see you.
             Would you like to come in for some chocolate?
             This is for you.
             How sweet of you.
             Thank you.
             Hmm, it's lovely.
             I heard you don't go to church.
             That's right.
             You won't last long here.
             People talk.
             Oh, sorry.
             I'm behaving badly, aren't I?
             No, it's OK.
             You don't misbehave here.
             It's just not done, did you know that?
             If you don't go to Confession...
             or if you don't dig your flower beds...
             or if you don't pretend...
             that you want nothing more in your life...
             than to serve your husband three meals a day...
             and give him children and vacuum under his ass...
             then... then you're crazy.
             You must think I'm stupid to stay with him.
             No, I don't think you're stupid.
             Well, I am. I'm weak.
             I don't love my husband, and I lie.
             Things could be different for you, Josephine.
             Serge doesn't run the world.
             He might as well.
             Is that what you believe?
             I know it.
             Then it must be true.
             My mistake.
             You make the most wonderful chocolate.
             Pantoufle wants to hear the story...
             of grandmere and grandpere.
             Don't say, "Not tonight." You always say, "Not tonight."
             All right, all right.
             Your grandfather...
             George Rocher...
             was the young apothecary of the town of Aulus-Les-Bains.
             It was Anouk's favourite story.
             Always told in the same words.
             George was honest, prosperous...
             and trusted by his customers.
             But George was not content.
             He felt there should be more to life...
             than dispensing liver oil.
             In the spring of     ...
             the Societe Pharmeceutique...
             formed an expedition to Central America...
             to study the medicinal properties...
             of certain natural compounds.
             George was the expedition's most eager volunteer.
             But his adventure took a turn he did not expect.
             One night, he was invited to drink unrefined cacao...
             with a pinch of chilli.
             The very same drink the ancient Maya...
             used in their sacred ceremonies.
             The Maya believed cacao held the power...
             to unlock hidden yearnings...
             and reveal destinies.
             And so it was that George first saw Chitza.
             Now, George had been raised a good Catholic...
             but in his romance with Chitza...
             he was willing to slightly bend the rules...
             of Christian courtship.
             The tribal elders tried to warn George about her.
             She was one of the wanderers.
             Her people moved with the North Wind...
             from village to village...
             dispensing ancient remedies...
             never settling down.
             Not a good choice for a bride.
             George did not heed their warning...
             and for a while, it seemed that he and Chitza...
             might lead a happy life together in France.
             Alas, the clever North Wind had other plans.
             One morning, George awoke to discover...
             that Chitza and the little girl Vianne...
             had gone away.
             Mother and daughter...
             were fated to wander from village to village...
             dispensing ancient cacao remedies...
             travelling with the wind.
             Just as Chitza's people had done...
             for generations.
             Just as Chitza's people...
             had done for generations.
             Will it just go on forever?
             Night, Mama.
             I appreciate your coming in, Armande.
             What's so important that I had to postpone my nap?
             I've got some chocolate cake.
             Grandmother.
             Grandmother... bonjour.
             May I...
             Would you like a cup of...?
             No, thank you.
             I'm just here to do a portrait.
             Whose?
             Yours, actually.
             Is the light OK where she's sitting?
             I have something for you, boy.
             I've been carrying it around since your last birthday.
             It's a book of poetry.
             Thank you.
             You don't like poetry?
             Oh, no. Of course I do.
             Neither do I.
             It's not that kind of poetry.
             And in a moment of weakness...
             I prayed to the Virgin Mother...
             to soothe Charly's soul in his hour of suffering.
             You understand an animal has no immortal soul.
             I understand, mon pere.
             Yet you flout God's law.
             I'm weak and a sinner.
             What else?
             Impure thoughts.
             The woman who runs the chocolaterie.
             Vianne Rocher?
             She suggested I buy chocolate seashells...
             for the widow Audel.
             And, well...
             I guess that got me to thinking about the widow Audel.
             At her age? At your age?
             Yes. And yes.
             And just what were you doing in a chocolaterie during Lent?
             It was for Charly.
             Again you flout God's law.
             Well, but if Charly has no soul...
             then there's no harm in him breaking Lent.
             Isn't that so, mon pere?
             Ten Hail Marys, twenty Our Fathers.
             "Will she never have done, then...
             that ghoul queen of a million dead bodies?"
             "I see myself again...
             skin rotten with mud and pest...
             worms in my armpits and in my hair."
             It's perfectly wretched, isn't it?
             Perfectly.
             Would you like some cake?
             Ahem. I'm not supposed to.
             Don't worry so much about not supposed to.
             Live a little.
             Oh, her hair appointment's almost done.
             I have to go.
             - What about my picture? - Next time.
             Thank you for the cake.
             Don't look so damn pleased with yourself.
             Stay here.
             I did it.
             He... he was so drunk.
             He woke up.
             He woke up. He saw me packing, but...
             So he tried to come after me...
             but I had already tied his feet with his belt, and...
             Boom! Right on his face.
             Right there on his big, red face.
             It is so stupid, isn't it?
             I never blame him.
             Sometimes I even forget what really happened.
             Now, now, now.
             I saved her!
             You remember her father collaborated with the Germans?
             Nobody wanted to touch her. Except for me.
             And this is the way she repays me?!
             Your anger is understandable.
             Anger? Everybody's laughing at me!
             That is not your concern.
             Your concern is the sacrament of marriage.
             Yeah, of course. The sacrament.
             Dip the ganshbe into the white chocolate.
             Like this?
             Good. Yes, shake it, a little.
             Good.
             Put it on the parchment sheet.
             You're doing great.
             Oh. I'll be right back.
             Oh. Good morning.
             Can I interest you in some Nipples of Venus?
             Rumour has it that you are harbouring Madame Muscat.
             Is that true?
             You make her sound like a fugitive.
             She is a fugitive, from her marriage vows...
             which have been sanctified by God.
             Come out here a minute.
             Let His Radiance have a look at you, hmm?
             Is that sanctified enough for you?
             It's not the first time.
             I'm truly sorry.
             You should have come to me.
             Your husband will be made to repent for this.
             Tell him to repent on someone else's head.
             Come on. In!
             Monsieur le Comte!
             I'm going to make an example of you.
             In there. He's ready.
             Well, but confession must be made...
             in the spirit of contrition.
             Have you come in the spirit of contrition?
             Contrition, yes.
             He's ready.
             Licentiousness, idolatry, sorcery...
             gluttony, and drunkenness.
             Correct.
             And what are the three conditions for mortal sin?
             Mortal sin...
             is sin whose object is...
             committed by...
             deliberate... consequence.
             Incorrect. Didi?
             Mortal sin is sin whose object is grave matter...
             which is committed with full knowledge...
             and deliberate consent.
             Correct.
             So, how do you know...
             if the coverture is properly tempered?
             You check to see if it's at body temperature.
             Then you dip the palette knife...
             to see that the coverture hardens on it evenly.
             Correct.
             Closer.
             In the village, time passed.
             And the chocolaterie did not go out of business.
             The Comte de Reynaud...
             felt himself being drawn into a strange crusade.
             His struggle to transform Serge into a gentleman...
             became more than an act of good will.
             It became a test...
             a holy war between chateau...
             and chocolaterie.
             Each time, I...
             I tell myself it's the last time.
             But then I...
             I get a whiff of a hot chocolate.
             Or those moon things.
             Chocolate seashells.
             So small, so plain, so innocent.
             I thought, just one little taste...
             it can't do any harm.
             But it turned out that they were filled...
             with rich, sinful...
             Buttery filling...
             and it melts, God forgive me...
             it melts ever-so-slowly on your tongue...
             and tortures you with pleasure.
             Against You alone, have I sinned...
             and done what is evil in Your sight.
             Indeed I was born guilty...
             a sinner when my mother conceived me.
             You desire truth in the inward being...
             therefore teach me wisdom in my secret heart.
             Now, the comte was no fool.
             Though he hoped to redeem Serge...
             he knew that this redemption alone...
             would not be enough...
             to regain control over the village.
             He understood that some larger lesson...
             needed to be taught.
             Some greater problem...
             needed to be identified and solved.
             Little did the comte suspect that his greater problem...
             would arrive one quiet afternoon...
             in the dull green waters of the river Tannes.
             You're it!
             Hey, look!
             I'm over here!
             You've never really told me what the problem is...
             between you and Caroline.
             'Cause it's none of your damn business.
             I'm an embarrassment to her.
             I swear, I read dirty books.
             I eat and drink what I like.
             And sin of sins...
             I refuse to go to Les Mimosas.
             When I was a kid, we called it Le Mortoir.
             It's a nursing home for old...
             It's in Toulouse.
             Caroline loves the thought of a nurse...
             with a clipboard recording my bowel movements.
             Mama, Mama, come quick!
             They're here! They've come to Lansquenet!
             - Slow down, Anouk. Who's here? - Pirates!
             Come on!
             - Why can't we stay? - Come on!
             But why can't we stay?
             OK, enough.
             But, Mama, just a little bit.
             Come on.
             Hello. How are you?
             Anybody got a sweet tooth?
             I bet he's the captain.
             Anouk, don't do that.
             Anouk, don't do that, please.
             - How do you do? - Sorry.
             I'd like to apologize.
             For all of us. Sincerely.
             What for?
             For whatever it is you're here to accuse us of.
             Why would I do that?
             Well, because we river rats are the dregs of society.
             With horrible diseases and criminal impulses.
             Sounds terrifying.
             Is it true?
             It's what you townspeople always seem to think, isn't it?
             This is not my town. Sorry.
             Well, then, what do you want?
             Are you here to save us?
             Are you the Catholic Aid Society?
             French Family League? Communist Workers?
             Which idea are you selling?
             Chocolate.
             I'm sorry, chocolate?
             What's a river rat?
             Is it like a pirate?
             Yeah, you could say that.
             You could.
             Have a look at my treasure chest.
             Let me guess, they're for sale.
             As a matter of fact, they are.
             For a mere thirty francs apiece.
             You laugh? I can get fifty for them in Paris.
             Then go to Paris.
             We'll take two, please.
             - You'll take two? - Yes, please, absolutely.
             I don't know if I have the right change.
             Just a minute.
             They're beautiful.
             Ireland's finest.
             Thanks.
             Thank you. Listen...
             I should probably warn you.
             You make friends with us, you'll make enemies of others.
             That a promise?
             It's a guarantee.
             What's he up to?
             Maybe he's joining the circus.
             Sorry, we're closed!
             Josephine, you look different.
             So do you.
             I just want to tell you that I am so sorry.
             For everything.
             But I've changed.
             You see, God has made me a new man.
             I ask you, I beg you...
             please accept my apology.
             I accept.
             I promise, from now on, everything will be different.
             Everything already is different, Serge.
             Well, I mean, when you come home.
             Home?
             Thanks for the apology. The flowers are lovely.
             No, please don't, Josephine.
             We are still married in the eyes of God.
             Then he must be blind.
             The council has no legal authority...
             to force them to move.
             The riverbank is public land.
             The mayor wishes to say a few words.
             If I may...
             ladies and gentlemen of the council.
             These people are rootless, godless drifters.
             That's right!
             Theirs is the way of slovenly pleasure.
             They would contaminate the spirit of our quiet town.
             The innocence of our children.
             Now, the chairman of the council is quite right.
             We cannot force them to leave.
             Why not?
             But we can help them to understand...
             that they are not welcome.
             Josephine, you think you can just walk out on me?
             You stupid woman!
             Worthless cow! You're nothing without me.
             You can't even use a skillet!
             Can't even put a goddamn meal on the table.
             He's inside.
             He's here. Oh, God.
             I need to talk to you.
             Please open the door. I know...
             - Mama! - Come help me!
             Open the door.
             Open the door. I just want to talk to you.
             Go sleep it off, Serge!
             Ah, you shut up, you bitch!
             You've caused enough trouble already! You...
             - Open this door! - Mama!
             Oh, my God!
             Stay away from me.
             - Come here now! - Aah!
             Why, you meddling bitch!
             You...
             Who says I can't use a skillet?
             Wonderful.
             Come on.
             Up. Come on. Up.
             His skull can't be as thick as we thought.
             It was like swatting a fly.
             Ohh. The worst is over.
             He found out what you're made of.
             So did I.
             How long have we got?
             She's at the hairdresser for an hour.
             Fuffi? Fuffi.
             I'm so sorry, but I have to break the appointment.
             Is something wrong?
             No. I volunteered to distribute these.
             I promised the comte I'd have them out by the end of the day.
             Count me in.
             Not that I expect any of them to stop by for a hairstyle.
             It's not just that.
             The comte feels we must stand firm.
             We cannot trust these people.
             Before you know it, they'll be doing jobs for food.
             They'll be begging at our doors.
             Not at this door.
             Good, Fuffi, good.
             Rub, rub. Rub harder. Rub.
             Rub it. Hard. Keep your head still.
             - Aha! - Bravo!
             If you want to blame someone, blame me...
             corrupting him with cocoa.
             Oh, how dare you, Mother.
             He's happy. He's fine. Look at him.
             Mama, I...
             Well, what about you, Mother?
             Are you fine?
             I bet she has conveniently forgotten to tell you.
             Carol.
             Why don't you show them, Mother?
             Are you afraid to? Why don't you show?
             Insulin shots.
             She has diabetes... very advanced.
             She could be blind within a year.
             Yeah. Couldn't you call me a drug addict?
             It sounds a lot more glamorous.
             And you... you sit here feeding her sweets.
             There are worse ways to die.
             Why don't you just give her rat poison?
             It would be faster.
             Carol has a flair for drama.
             She needs to be in a place where she can be taken care of.
             Le Mortoir?
             I'd rather be in Hell.
             You may get there, Mother.
             Luc, come with me.
             I don't want to.
             He's happy here. It's good for him.
             I will decide what is good for my son, Madame Muscat.
             Give me another.
             It's my life. Let me enjoy what's left of it.
             Fill 'er up.
             Armande, why didn't you tell me?
             Is this a chocolaterie, or is it a confessional?
             Don't you dare pity me.
             Sorry, we're closed.
             She just wants a soda water.
             I don't serve animals.
             Right.
             I just made a fresh batch of monduon.
             Anybody interested?
             My tummy hurts.
             I've got just the thing for that. Come in.
             What about boycotting immorality, then?
             Come in.
             An old remedy.
             From the cocoa tree.
             Tastes strange.
             Mmm. Maybe your daddy would like a taste.
             He's not my daddy. He's my pony.
             Here. It's a lot better than those leaves.
             Tastes good.
             Come on.
             Pantoufle wants to meet you.
             He's my kangaroo.
             Go ahead. It's your favourite.
             What makes you so sure?
             Go on. Taste it.
             That's fantastic.
             Oh, thanks. I have a knack for guessing.
             It's good... not my favourite.
             Sorry?
             All right.
             Thanks very much.
             You know, I could fix that, if you like.
             Not with glass, but...
             I can make you a nice strong one out of wood.
             That's nice of you...
             but I insist on paying you for your work.
             That makes two of us, then.
             Thanks again.
             She's laughing at us.
             Now she's got one of those river people working for her.
             Is that a problem? Christ teaches us...
             Look at this.
             She's soliciting for stalls and street performers...
             for a fertility celebration on Easter Sunday.
             She's cackling at us.
             When are you going to do something about it?
             Oh, there.
             What part of Australia is Pantoufle from?
             A small town outside of Sydney.
             What does he eat?
             Leaves, bugs...
             and worms, of course.
             What about chocolate?
             Kangaroos don't eat chocolate.
             Has he ever tried it?
             Have you ever tried chocolate?
             He's not interested.
             Not interested? Mr Pantoufle, you surprise me.
             A world traveller such as yourself...
             not interested in new flavours?
             You should be ashamed.
             I have a very nice truffle here...
             if he wants to try it.
             You're wasting your time.
             Oh, I'm sorry.
             How do you know you don't like chocolate...
             if you refuse to try it?
             Do you like worms?
             What?
             How do you know if you've never tasted one?
             Subtle.
              Zesty.
               Disgusting.
               Go on, my little friend.
               Be free.
               You tricked me.
               Satan...
               wears many guises.
               At times, Satan is the singer of a lurid song...
               you hear on the radio.
               At times, the author of a salacious novel.
               At times, the quiet man lurking in the schoolyard...
               asking your children if he might join their game.
               And at times, the maker of sweet things...
               mere trifles.
               For what could seem more harmless...
               more innocent...
               than chocolate?
               A bit of a squeak.
               Hey, Guillaume!
               I've got something new Charly's going to love.
               Come on, Charly. Come on.
               It's me. I should go.
               No, it's not you.
               Where have you been?
               I was worried.
               Hey! I'm talking to you.
               It's just like all the other towns.
               Just tell me what happened.
               Are you Satan's helper?
               Well, it's not easy being different.
               Why can't we go to church?
               Well, you can if you want, but it won't make things easier.
               Why can't you wear black shoes like the other mothers?
               He's a fine piece of work, our little nobleman.
               No wonder his wife goes gallivanting off.
               She's been in Italy for months. Did you know that?
               The whole town's against me.
               What can I do?
               Throw me a party.
               Ha ha ha! What?
               Wednesday's my   th.
               Let's show the bastards we're ready to go down dancing.
               But a party?
               You're not well. You have to face it.
               OK, OK, OK...
               But you do this for me, and I promise...
               I'll check into Le Mortoir the very next morning...
               without a care in the world.
               If I threw a party in this town, no one would come.
               They don't need to know who's throwing it.
               Armande, listen, I...
               No, no, no. You listen.
               I need this.
               When I need help, I ask for it.
               Boys, bring me some more wood.
               My mother used to sing that song...
               when I couldn't sleep.
               And did it help?
               I still didn't sleep, but, yes, it helped.
               How's the door?
               It squeaks.
               - Does it? - Ha ha!
               How's Anouk? Is she well?
               Oh, she's better. She's fine.
               Good. How are you?
               I'm throwing a party...
               If anyone shows up.
               Thanks.
               Who's invited?
               A bunch of townspeople.
               Tell me something. Why do you give a damn about...
               what these narrow-minded villagers think?
               You're not scared of them, are you?
               Coming to the party or not?
               I can't.
               There's a boycott against immorality...
               and I must respect that.
               That is a problem.
               Then, I'll leave you with this test of your convictions.
               What is that?
               Your favourite.
               My favourite? Is that right?
               - Thank you. - You're welcome.
               I'm undone...
               but not my favourite.
               I'll come round sometime...
               get that squeak out of your door.
               A lot for you.
               You see? It's perfect.
               Bon appetit, everyone.
               If the comte finds out...
               The comte isn't here. He wasn't invited.
               Is Luc coming?
               I'm sure they have other plans.
               Why are you sleeping?
               Are you not feeling well?
               Happy birthday, Grandmama.
               The invitation said  .  .
               I should have read it more closely.
               If you had, you'd know there was supposed to be no gifts.
               Don't worry so much about the "supposed to".
               Like it?
               You made me younger.
               Very diplomatic.
               I have two announcements.
               Number one... if you like what you tasted here...
               you're going to love my chocolate festival on Sunday.
               Advertise on your own time.
               What's for dessert?
               That brings me to number two.
               It is my duty to announce...
               that there is no dessert here tonight.
               No dessert?
               Because it's on Roux's boat.
               Any complaints, see me.
               Monsieur le Comte?
               Who's there?
               I must speak to you.
               You see, Monsieur le Comte? You see?
               There's Josephine, that stupid cow.
               Something must be done, Serge.
               Something must be done.
               - You done yet? - Almost.
               - Almost? - Hmm?
               Come on, leave it. You're done.
               Come with me.
               Come on.
               I have chocolates everywhere.
               What? You're all right.
               Do you think everyone had a good time?
               I'm tired.
               Thanks.
               This was...
               Thank you.
               I'll take you home.
               Oh, for God's sake, don't fuss.
               You'll ruin a perfectly decadent evening.
               I'm not partial to big, sloppy good-byes.
               I'll take care of the dishes.
               I think I'll sleep in my chair tonight.
               Do you like it?
               Taking your home with you wherever you go?
               Yeah. Why not?
               Your way must be harder...
               each time having to make a new home from scratch.
               Well, maybe this time I'll get it right.
               What do you mean?
               Maybe I'll stay.
               What?
               Don't you ever think about belonging somewhere?
               The price is too high.
               You end up caring what people expect of you. No.
               Is that so terrible?
               Having people expect something of you?
               How does Anouk feel about it?
               What?
               All the moving around.
               No, she's fine.
               She handles it beautifully.
               She makes friends easily.
               She has such an unusual...
               She hates it.
               Vianne, come on.
               Get 'em out of here!
               We need more! Hurry up!
               Mommy!
               Jesus!
               Come back!
               Come back, Vianne!
               - Stop! - No!
               - No! - Stop it!
               Stop it! Stop it!
               - Come back! - No!
               Come on!
               Why did you stop me?
               It was too late.
               Mom!
               There she is.
               Oh, my God, there she is!
               Mama!
               Anouska! I'm coming!
               Oh, my God.
               You're hurting me.
               Oh, my God.
               I just wanted to make sure that...
               Yes, we're OK.
               You?
               And I came to say...
               To say good-bye. Yes, I know.
               What?
               Your boat.
               You've lost your home.
               Just a way to get from place to place, really.
               So, how will you...
               I'll manage.
               Well...
               Well...
               Listen, I...
               I know. I'm sorry.
               Your papa used to ride this bike every single morning.
               He would have wanted you to have it.
               Just you promise me you'll never run away again, OK?
               Mama, she...
               What?
               What's wrong, Luc?
               Though we cannot know...
               Armande Voizin's last thoughts...
               we can hope they were thoughts of penitence.
               We can hope she asked God...
               to forgive the self-indulgence...
               that aggravated her illness and caused her death...
               and we can pause to re-examine our own lives.
               We can resist those...
               who would lead us into temptation.
               Blessed is the one who endures temptation...
               for when he has stood the test...
               Mama...
               Can we go home now?
               Of course.
               Whatever you like, Mama.
               Vianne, did you want me...
               to start the ganache for the festival?
               Did you...
               What are you doing?
               Leaving. First thing in the morning.
               Is it because of Armande?
               That was not your fault.
               It's time, that's all.
               This is who I am.
               Did you believe anything you told me?
               Did you believe I could be better?
               Was it all a joke?
               I have to pack now.
               If you leave, everything will go back...
               to the way it always was.
               It is the way it always was.
               Not for me.
               I know how you feel.
               Beg your pardon?
               I suppose it can't be easy...
               having her gone.
               Can't seem to get used to it, no matter how much time.
               Ahem. But I... Iook forward to her return.
               I don't believe anyone would think less of you...
               if you were to say she was never coming back.
               Good night, Paul.
               I'm sorry.
               I need to talk to you.
               Come in.
               Monsieur le Comte.
               It's all right.
               Sorry to bother you, Monsieur le Comte.
               All right.
               It was the right thing to do, wasn't it?
               Of course it was. I know it was.
               It's everything with Josephine.
               Serge...
               what are you talking about?
               The fire, Monsieur le Comte.
               I know it was the right thing to do...
               but I can't get rid of the faces and the screams.
               The fire...
               The fire was an act of God.
               It was me, Monsieur le Comte.
               What?
               You told me. Remember?
               "Something has to be done, Serge."
               You did, didn't you?
               People could have died.
               You want their blood on your hands?
               On... on my hands?
               Should I go to Pere Henri and ask for forgiveness?
               Listen to me, Serge.
               Listen very carefully.
               You must leave this village at once...
               and never return.
               Why would I leave my home and my cafe?
               Because I'm evicting you, that's why!
               What you have done puts you beyond anyone's help...
               beyond my help, anybody's help!
               Now get out!
               Unless you will tell the police what you've done!
               Get out! Get out! Get out!
               Time to go.
               I'm not going.
               Well, it's hard for me, too.
               Pantoufle hates this.
               Stop that.
               Please put it on.
               I hate you.
               You're entitled. I said put it on.
               Well, then, do it yourself!
               I can't!
               Get up.
               I have a bad leg like Pantoufle.
               Stop that. Get up.
               Pantoufle can't walk. I can't walk.
               Walk. Walk!
               You're hurting me.
               Well, stop being...
               Let me go!
               It's not fair!
               Stop it!
               I'm not going!
               It's... Stop it!
               I'm sorry, Mama.
               Don't worry, Mama.
               The next time will be better, won't it, Mama?
               It will.
               It will be wonderful.
               I'm ready to go now, OK?
               Like this, Mama?
               That's right.
               Is this right?
               No, no, you've got to cut on the corners like this.
               So, just stop them.
               Higher.
               How do you like these almonds?
               Are they chopped fine enough?
               Are they OK, Vianne?
               Christ is risen.
               My friends, let this Easter Day be for us, too, a rebirth.
               Let us strive...
               No, don't bury the word "rebirth".
               Let it ring out.
               Let this day be for us, too, a rebirth!
               You see, we are extolling our... our parishioners...
               to... to resurrect their moral awareness.
               Hmm? OK, good, good. Try again.
               I think we've gone over this enough.
               Let's call it a day.
               - What? - I'm very tired.
               Fine, fine. Well, leave it with me.
               I may have one or two suggestions.
               Thank you, Monsieur le Comte...
               Just a couple of suggestions.
               A revision here and there.
               We want it to be perfect tomorrow, don't we?
               We must resist the shallow, worldly temptations...
               of our mortal... No, no.
               We must renounce shallow, worldly temptations...
               of our mortal flesh.
               All my efforts have been for nothing.
               I've suffered willingly.
               I've fasted.
               I've hardly eaten for weeks now.
               I'm sorry.
               I'm sorry, my suffering is nothing.
               It's just that I... I feel so lost.
               I don't know what to do.
               Tell me what to do.
               Drink this.
               It'll refresh you.
               I promise.
               Go ahead, drink.
               I'm so sorry.
               I won't tell a soul.
               Hmm. Better get cleaned up.
               Easter Sunday.
               The sermon.
               I didn't finish it.
               I'll think of something.
               I'm not sure what the theme of my homily today ought to be.
               Do I want to speak of the miracle...
               of our Lord's divine transformation?
               Not really, no.
               I don't want to talk about His divinity.
               I'd rather talk about His humanity.
               I mean, you know, how he lived his life here on Earth.
               His kindness.
               His tolerance.
               Listen, here's what I think.
               I think we can't go around...
               measuring our goodness by what we don't do.
               By what we deny ourselves...
               what we resist and who we exclude.
               I think we've got to measure goodness...
               by what we embrace...
               what we create...
               and who we include.
               It was certainly not...
               the most fiery sermon Pere Henri would ever preach...
               nor the most eloquent.
               But the parishioners felt a new sensation that day.
               A lightening of the spirit.
               A freedom from the old tranquilite.
               Whoa! Fantastic!
               Monsieur le Comte, try one of these.
               Thank you.
               Even the Comte de Reynaud...
               felt strangely...
               released.
               Although, it would take another six months...
               before he'd work up the nerve to ask Caroline out to dinner.
               As for Josephine...
               she took over the lease at the old cafe...
               and gave it a new name.
               But still the clever North Wind...
               was not satisfied.
               The Wind spoke to Vianne...
               of towns yet to be visited.
               Friends in need, yet to be discovered.
               Battles yet to be fought.
               By someone else... next time.
               And so it was, the North Wind grew weary...
               and went on its way.
               When summer came to the little village...
               a new breeze from the south blew soft and warm.
               Just needed an adjustment.
               Hope it'll be better now.
               My mother knew Roux's return...
               had nothing to do with a silly old door.
               So did I.
               I thought you'd never guess.
               My favourite, hot chocolate.
               I knew that.
               As for Pantoufle?
               Well, his bad leg miraculously healed...
               and he hopped off in search of new adventures.
               I didn't miss him.
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