And then he bent over her suddenly from behind, tweaked her ear, and caught her by the shoulders. It had always been his way with women, to surprise them, get them into his arms. The magnetic male was very strong in Bibi; he had known women who had fought and then given him all that he wanted.
Manon had been waiting for that attack. She had expected it, knowing Bibi as she did. She said nothing, but picking up the scissors, made a deft jab at Louis Blanc’s left wrist.
“Keep your hands to yourself, if you please.”
She had challenged the beast in Bibi, and she sat there pretending to go on with her work, drawing her breath a little more deeply, ready to spring up, and to call for Marie Castener. Bibi had removed his hands from her shoulders, and was sucking his left wrist. She had drawn blood, quite a good red trickle of it.
“I think that is all, monsieur.”
She saw him come back from behind her chair and move to the other side of the table. He had pulled out a blue handkerchief and was wrapping it round his wrist.
“Your scissors are as sharp as your tongue. A nice way to receive a man who comes to propose a little bit of business.”
“What a fool you are,” she said very quietly. “Don’t you see that you cannot do with me what you have done with other women? You are not the sort of man who appeals to me. You are only wasting your time.”
Bibi stared at her a moment.
“It is as well to know these things,” he said coolly; “nothing like having reconnoitred the other fellow’s bit of trench. Shall I tell old Mother Castener that the talk is over?”