The baker from the rue Saint Honoré was so cross that he glowered at his wife when she handed him a cup of steaming, nicely sweetened coffee and a plate of cream buns. He was worried, which was one reason for his being cross. He snapped out these words as he took a long drink of the good coffee:
“There’s no telling what will be standing from one day to the next. They’re looting and burning everything that takes their fancy! They’ve got the idea this place is too aristocratic. They know it used to be serving royalty. You mark my words, they’ll get us yet!” The baker put his head in his hands with a gesture of despair.
He meant the mobs which went from one end of the city to the other, plundering and stealing and destroying everything upon which they could lay their hands. They were mad with hunger, many of them, and there was no one to guide them; rather were they encouraged in their lawlessness by the very men who should have curbed them, and they lost all semblance of civilized beings.
“You’re as bad as any of them, keeping that boy a prisoner upstairs. Why don’t you put on a uniform and go out with our brave soldiers and fight for liberty in a clean way, instead of staying at home and turning coward and villain!” exclaimed the bakery woman with sudden courage.
“I’ll ask you to keep a civil tongue in your head and I’ll have no more of your spoiling of that boy. What he needs is a little wholesome discipline, with his proud face and haughty ways. I couldn’t get a word out of him when I went up there last night; but I’ll try something more persuasive than words if he doesn’t look out. I’ll not put up with his impudence, and I’m going to find out if he knows anything of where the girl might be. I’m going to find out now!”
The baker finished his coffee with one long gulp and rose from his chair in the outer kitchen. It was evening, and because of the bad times in that quarter they were closing early. He went through the storeroom, up the stairs to the room where Lisle was. He unlocked the door and went in, closing the door behind him.
Lisle was standing by the table. As the baker came up to him he pushed aside the paper and pen he had been using.
“I’ve come for a word with you and you’ll do well to answer me straight. Where do you think the girl may be?”
The baker came close up to Lisle and regarded him severely. Lisle returned his look steadily.
“What girl?” he asked.