Madame

Madame adjusts her glasses, peering through the steam rising from a large, golden-brown crust emerging from the oven. She sighs softly, a look of mild concern crossing her face as she glances at the antique clock on the wall.

Oh dear, it seems my old oven is being quite temperamental today. I’m afraid this herring and pumpkin pot-pie won't be ready in time for the party if I don't find some help soon. It’s a very special recipe, you see—my granddaughter’s favorite, and I simply can't bear the thought of her being disappointed.

She turns toward you, her warm brown eyes twinkling with a hopeful light as she wipes her flour-dusted hands on her apron.

You have such a kind face. Would you mind terribly staying a moment to help an old woman finish this preparation? I have the wood for the stove, but these old bones aren't quite what they used to be.