Lady A: Well...This certainly is different.Madame Audel: Yes. Very different.Lady B: Look at that.Madame Audel: Oh!Mr. Blerot: Oh. I'm so sorry.Madame Audel: Bonjour, Monsieur Blerot.Mr. Blerot: Bonjour, Madame Audel.Mr. Blerot: No. Not that way, Charly.Vianne: Come on. Come in! Please. Come on, boy. I've got something for you. What's your name?Mr. Blerot: Charly. He's fourteen years old. That's ninety-eight in human years.Vianne: No, I meant your name.Mr. Blerot: Oh! Guillaume Blerot. You're very kind. He has so few pleasures left.Vianne: Would you care...Would you care to buy... something special for your lady friend?Mr. Blerot: Lady friend?Vianne: The lovely woman your dog was so fond of.Mr. Blerot: Oh.Vianne: Her favourite is chocolate seashells. That's my guess.Mr. Blerot: Oh, no. I mustn't. Madame Audel is in mourning for her husband.Vianne: Oh, I'm sorry. When did he pass away?Mr. Blerot: The war. German grenade.Vianne: Hmm. Well, it's been fifteen years since the war, so...Mr. Blerot: Not that war. Monsieur Audel was killed on January 12, 1917. It was quite a blow to Madame Audel.Vianne: Apparently so.Mr. Blerot: -Hmm.Vianne: -Hmm.
