The baker was angry at Lisle, but he was curious, too. He had never seen any one like him. He had threatened to whip him and yet Lisle had still dared to defy him about the girl, and had spoken with an amazing impudence. Tortot went toward the door.
"We'll see if I can't rid you of some of that impertinence, my fine fellow," he snarled.
While the baker had been speaking, there was a strange roaring sound somewhere in the distance, and when he finished it seemed to be very near. He paused uncertainly and his face showed white in the growing dusk. He ran over to the door and opened it, and as he did so there was a frightful crashing sound of breaking glass, mad shouting, then another crash, and the sound of a door being broken down.
Tortot stood as one dazed, but even in his fright and bewilderment he had presence of mind enough to put himself in front of the door as Lisle made a rush for it. The baker's broad bulk completely barred the way and he was quick enough to prevent Lisle from ducking under his arm. There was the sound of tables and chairs being overthrown, more shouting, and then the bakery woman's voice calling lustily:
"Charles, Charles, they are destroying us!"
It was only for a couple of minutes that Lisle and the baker struggled in the doorway. Then there was a burst of sound from the kitchens, the crash of pewter and iron cooking pans and tins being thrown down, voices harshly singing the "Ça Ira," and the next instant a tall figure, with ragged red locks about his shoulders, swung himself up the stairway, knocked the baker down with one fierce thrust of his arm, and catching Lisle about the waist, threw him up over his shoulder.
He was down again like a flash, through the storeroom to the bakery shop where confusion reigned. Cakes were scattered broadcast, and broken china dishes lay in scattered heaps on the floor and counter. Dian with one quick, strong gesture had flung his cloak about Lisle as he ran with him down the stairway. Holding him close in his arms he ran on through the shop, out into the freedom of the streets!
Dian ran steadily and easily. He was used to long stretches of countryside, but he was not used to the tortuous, winding streets of Paris. He knew that some of those in the shop must have seen him, but as he had completely covered Lisle with his cloak he hoped that, had any one given him a thought, it would be only to surmise that he had run off with some especially choice piece of loot.