“I am going to wash up.”
Manon understood what was in Marie’s mind. The wash-house was at the back of the cottage, and was reached by crossing a brick-paved yard. Manon nodded.
“Sit down, monsieur.”
But Bibi remained standing, watching Veuve Castener clearing away the plates, his hands in his trouser pockets. Manon glanced up at him once or twice. She noticed that Louis Blanc was wearing new clothes, a well-cut black suit, new boots, a light waistcoat. These clothes were part of Bibi’s “business atmosphere”; he was a fellow who had money.
Veuve Castener disappeared with a tray full of dirty crockery. Bibi stood quite still for a moment, and then went and closed the door that opened on the yard. He came back and stared at Manon across the table.
“That is rather unnecessary, monsieur.”
“Indeed!”
“You and I have nothing to say to each other that my friend may not hear.”
He laughed, one of those soundless laughs, and fidgeted his hands in his pockets.
“You are still devilish pretty, ma petite.”