Manon began to clear the plates from the table.
“That is not on the bill of fare, monsieur.”
He was smiling.
“I’ll include it. I am owed a good deal. Come here—at once.”
Manon set the plate and cup on the dresser, and loitered a moment, fighting the horror of Bibi’s gradual attack. She felt herself helpless, shut up in a cage with a beast who sat there and gloated. She knew that it was useless to appeal to the decent man in Louis Blanc, and that evasions would only amuse him. She wondered how long it would be before he grew violent, how long she would be able to hold him off. And if Paul returned, it might only add to the horror.
“Come here.”
She made herself face Bibi, but kept the table between them.
“The joke has gone far enough, monsieur; it does not please me.”
“So you think it is a joke?”
“Of course.”