“My partner will be back—very soon.”
The omelette was ready. She turned it out upon a plate, and Bibi stood up, pushing the arm-chair against the door with one foot, while he caught hold of another chair and turned it towards the table. He sat down. Manon pushed the plate, the bread, and a knife and fork across the table, and poured out a cup of coffee.
Bibi ate. He had an unclean way of eating, and an ugly trick of pushing out his lower lip like a ledge and shovelling the food over it. He tore the bread with his fingers. Manon had helped herself to a cup of coffee, and all the while she was listening.
“Sit down, madame.”
“I prefer to stand.”
Bibi looked at her curiously, as though she were part of the food on the table.
“This fellow of yours works hard.”
“He is a very good partner, monsieur.”
“He works too hard,” and then he made a coarse jest at Paul’s expense.
Manon stared at Bibi as though she did not understand him.