“Is it permitted for a poor man to come in and sit down for ten minutes?”
He smiled, and made eyes at Marie.
“I have a few words to say to Madame Latour. A business matter, you know; we are full of business these days.”
Veuve Castener spoke to Manon in a loud voice, as though Bibi were on the other side of a field.
“Here is Monsieur Louis Blanc who wishes to speak to you, Manon.”
“What does he want?”
“To talk about business.”
“Oh, let him in,” said Manon, yawning a little.
Bibi was angry at being kept on the doorstep, and at the way Mother Castener had snubbed him by talking to Manon as though he were not there. He had seen Manon’s yawn, and appreciated the flat indifference of her voice; the diplomat in Bibi was ruffled. His swagger had lost its fine edge and became a more brutal weapon.
Veuve Castener let him enter. She glanced at Manon, who had reached for her work-basket and had taken out a stocking that needed darning, also wool and a pair of scissors. She dropped the scissors into her lap.