While he pretended aimiable indifference to the other customers, in reality Robespierre was really studying them all carefully and the first thing that he noticed was the fact that everyone was dressed in what would be considered sober and drab colours in Gallia. "Mon Dieu" he thought, "I stand out like a phoenix among crows. What must they all think of me and the way I am dressed?"
As he considered this and wondered whether he should beat a hastly retreat from this tea shop, the young lady from behind the counter approached his table and expertly slid an elegent silver tray onto the table and began to arrange its contents before him. There was a beautiful little tea pot, with matching cup, saucer and milk jug, all in a delicate rose pattern. There was also a plate with two small cakes of a type that he was unfamiliar with, domed like little hills rising out of the paper cups that enclosed them. As the waitress started to pick up the tray to leave the table, Robespierre once more took her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles, before fervently thankiing her for the repast before him. She blushed prettily and hastily backed away before fleeing to the safety of the counter once more.
As he gazed at the breakfast in front of him, Robespierre heard a polite cough and looking up, found himself looking at the lady who had appeared to have some sort of medical problem. "Would you mind if I joined you young man?" she said. Rising quickly to his feet, Robespierre politely waived the woman to a seat and said, "Mais oui madamoiselle, please to join do you." then waited until his guest sat down before returning to his own seat. "You are obviously not a native Bretonian young man and since I pride myself on assessing my customers and their needs, I am curiously at a loss since I cannot even guess where you might be from. You are not Kusari, Libertonian, Rheinlander, Corsair nor Outcast, yet you do not have the mannerisms of the Borderworlds or Edgeworlds. You intrigue me and it my overwhelming curiosity that prompts me to impose myself upon you during your breakfast. So, would you care to tell me where you do come from?" said the guest.
Ah, thought Robespierre here is my chance to start my true mission. "I am from the kingdom of Gallia madamoiselle .......?" he said to which the woman replied "I am Christy sir, the owner of this establishment". "Ah, madamoiselle Christy, honoured meet you is I. C'est une bon chance mange mon petit dejeuner avec vous .......pardonez madamoiselle, aah ...... lucky chance share mon breakfast you with." said Robespierre smiling at Christy, who hastily rearranged the words in her head as she struggled to find what the young man was trying to say. Leaning forward slightly, Robespierre asked, "Pardon madamoiselle Christy, le gateaux they are?" , glancing quickly down at them, Christy replied "Muffins". Robespierre filed the name away in his memory as yet another outlandish word these strange Bretonians used, then asked, "So madamoiselle Christy, le Bretons like to eat muff?"
Just then the man Bert seemed to start choking and fell off his chair. As Christy rushed to help him, Robespierre couldn't help but wonder why these Bretons seemed so prone to coughing fits, was there some sort of infectious virus afflicting them all at the moment?
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