“Bon soir, madame; we thought you were in bed. We came to serenade you!”
The human chain gave a wriggle towards the Rue de Picardie, but Philipon put himself in the way.
“You can go back by the other road. Beaucourt is bored with you.”
They chaffed him, but they took his advice. Manon had unlocked the door. She turned and thanked Philipon.
“Come in and drink a glass of wine.”
“Pardon, but I go to bed early in order to get up early. I think those lads are all wind. Good-night.”
“Good-night, monsieur, and thank you.”
“It’s nothing,” said the smith.
Manon was lighting the lamp in the kitchen when Brent came and put his arm round her.
“I wish we could blow Bibi and that crowd off the face of the earth. I don’t like the idea of leaving you here with those fellows about.”