Crapaud and the orator put Bibi’s prophecy to an experimental test. They strolled in the cool of the evening to Manon’s café, and saw Manon herself standing on the path admiring the new sign-board that Paul had put up that very morning. Brent was working in the garden, and the wall hid him from view.
It was Crapaud who did the talking. Ledoux was useless with women, being too uncouth and too sombre a beast.
“Good evening, madame; we have come to try your wine.”
Manon looked at them. She had never seen these two men before.
“I am sorry, monsieur, but my café has been closed for a week. We have been too busy.”
Crapaud winked at his comrade.
“Then what is that sign doing up there? All that gold lettering looks very inviting.”
She did not reply to Crapaud, but entered the house with the finality of a Frenchwoman who does not argue about her authority in her own home. Ledoux’s red eyes looked evil, but then Ledoux was a coward.
“Bourgeoise——!” He used a foul word.
Pompom Crapaud had the physical audacity that Ledoux lacked. He jumped up on to the path, entered the café, and, walking into the kitchen, sat down in Paul’s arm-chair. A minute later Manon found him there, a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth, and his cap over one eye.