“Do not pretend to be so innocent. A woman only pulls up her petticoat when she pretends to look innocent.”
“Yes, that was always your idea of a woman, Monsieur Blanc.”
Bibi finished his second cup of coffee, and wiped his mouth on his hand.
“So you think this fellow Brent is a better man than I am.”
“I have never thought about it. There was no necessity.”
“You are mistaken. I shall have to put the matter right. I don’t like to think of a pretty woman believing what isn’t true.”
He got up from the table and went and sat in the arm-chair by the door and, feeling in the breast pocket of his coat, brought out a little black cigar.
“A match.”
Manon took a box from the shelf and threw it to him. He caught the box, and flourished it with an air of gaiety, the cigar stuck aggressively between his lips. Manon watched him light the cigar and puff blue smoke, making a sucking noise with his lips. She had always hated Bibi, but her hatred of him became more like a foul taste in her mouth.
“Something to eat, something to smoke, and a woman to talk to. Come and sit on my knee, coquette.”