We heard the cry of a woman from an upper window, and then the snap of a window-shutter closing. In this dramatic moment I wheeled about anxiously towards Augustine, but he had disappeared.
Don José de Montoria, mad with rage, kicked angrily at the prostrate body, stammering thickly in his wrath.
“You dirty pickpocket, enriched with the blood of the poor, you dare to call me a thief, to call the members of the committee of supplies thieves! By a thousand porras ! I will teach you to respect honest people, and you may be thankful that I do not tear out that miserable tongue of yours and throw it to the dogs.”
All this struck us fairly dumb; but presently we snatched the unlucky Candiola from under the feet of his enemy. His first movement was made as if to jump upon him again, but Montoria had gone into the house, calling:
“Come, boys, we will go into the storehouse and get the flour. Quickly, let us make haste, quickly!”
The great number of people who had congregated in the street prevented old Candiola from entering his own house. The gamins, who had come running from all over the neighborhood, took charge of him themselves. Some pulled him forward, others pushed him backward, tearing his clothing to shreds. Others, taking the offensive from afar, threw great chunks of street mud at him. In the meantime a woman came to meet those of us who had entered the lower floor where the storerooms were. At the first glance I recognized the beautiful Mariquilla, altered and trembling, wavering at every step, without power to stand erect or speak, paralyzed with terror. Her fear was so great that we all pitied her, even Montoria.