chalumeau

Then one day his father brought him to see his aunt—who had married Monsieur Chalumeau, my uncle, you see?

Madame Chalumeau's face, glossy and red-and-white like a Norman apple, wore an expression of anxious expectation.

Good Madame Chalumeau climbed down from her chair with a generous display of fat, black woollen legs and unpinned her skirt.

Madame Chalumeau flopped her omelet again, slid it to a platter and set a carafe of cider on the table.

Madame Chalumeau had risen, and had led her guest through the sitting-room into her immaculate kitchen.