Right next to Maxim's, even the lettering on the sign is the same. Coincidence? A fancy enough looking place, dark wooden slightly art nouveau chairs with velvety violet seats. Square tables with marbled tops. I was the first customer. I watched them unstack all the chairs and set up the outside tables. They relegated me to a table further inside than I would have liked, possibly either because of my clothes or the fact that I'm not a regular. The seat is nice anyway, and perhaps it's better that I'm not right next to the busy Rue Royale. Right now there is a giant red delivery truck outside with the café's shipment of Evian.

On my table is an empty carafe and a tall water glass, alongside a napkined plate holding the crumbs of my croissant breakfast. The coffee came with granulated sugar in a rectangular packet. There are clear glass ashtrays on many of the inside tables, but the table next to me has a black glass ashtray with that abstract horseshoe design on the side. The radio plays faintly; we have already had the pleasure of hearing Tom Jones' "Sex Bomb" as we sipped our espresso. Being in such a place causes me to sometimes refer to myself in the royal "we." The lighting here emanates from small bulbs surrounded by arrangements of oversized autumn leaves. The large mirror across from me and the cherry-stained wood paneling along the walls create an elegant, spacious effect. Reflected in the mirror I can see the front of the large case to my left -- it seems to be filled with elegant tobacco products for the more discriminating clientelle. The front of the menu that stands on every few tables has a stained glass floral design. I don't know if we shall be coming back here again, but it is a nice place.