Brent’s eyes glimmered.
“I have met men like that. But they always left me alone. I used to laugh at them—and get on with my work. You can’t quarrel with a gatepost.”
“Bibi would,” said Manon; “he’s a savage. Do you know what he did once?”
“Well?”
“There was a bull on one of the farms, a fierce beast. It chased Bibi one day; he had to run. What does he do but come to Beaucourt, pick up an axe, and go back to fight the bull. And he killed it, battered its head all to bits, and then paid the owner. Threw the money at him. Bibi likes a swaggering gesture.”
“What a pleasant brute,” said Brent, but the glimmer had gone out of his eyes.
Manon began putting on her shoes.
“I wanted you to know. You see, if Bibi tried to hurt you, it would be because of me.”
“I don’t ask for a better reason,” he said, looking her straight in the eyes.
And Manon coloured. She bent over and picked up the bundle, and began to place the things in order upon the table.