Manon did not speak to Paul until they were half-way up the Rue de Picardie.
“Well!—that is Monsieur Bibi,” she said; “what do you think of him?”
“A beast.”
His frankness brought back her animation.
“Yes, you are right—a beast—and a clever beast. Did you see how he was trying to find out——?”
“I ought to have a French name,” said Brent; “how would Paul Rance do? It is a river—somewhere. And if inquisitive people ask questions, and worry about my accent you can tell them—or I will—that I lived for seven years in England.”
Manon nodded.
“It is possible that we shall have trouble with Bibi. He has a grudge against me.”
“What sort of a grudge?” Brent asked.
“He wanted to buy my café—because too many people came to it.”