"Stop him!"
These are very inspiring cries with a clamorous French mob to howl them. To be caught under such circumstances is to run imminent risk of summary punishment. And the vitriol-thrower is not an uncommon feature of Parisian criminal life; there would be little hesitation where one is caught, as it were, red-handed.
Jean ran these possibilities through his mind as he dashed down a side street into the Avenue Montsouris. Fear did not exactly lend him wings, but it certainly did not retard his flight. And he had the additional advantage that he was not yelling at every jump and lost no time in false direction. He doubled by way of Rue Dareau, cut into Rue de la Tombe-Issoire over the net-work of railway tracks, and then dropped into a walk. But not so soon that he escaped the observation of a police agent standing in the shadow in the next narrow turning towards the railway station. The officer heard his panting breath long before Jean got near him, and rightly conjectured that the student was running away from something. To detain him for an explanation was an obvious duty.
"Well, now! Monsieur seems to be in a hurry," said he, as he suddenly stepped in front of the fugitive.
This official apparition would have startled even a man who was not in a hurry, but Jean quickly recovered his self-possession.
"Yes, monsieur; I go for a doctor. A sick——"
"Pardon! but you have just passed the hospital. That won't do, young man!"
The agent made a gesture to seize his suspect, but at that moment Jean saw two other agents in the distance walking rapidly to join their comrade. He upper-cut the man sharply, catching him squarely on the point of the chin and sending him to grass with a mangled and bleeding tongue.
There appeared to be no help for it, but the young man now had two fresh pursuers. At any rate, he was free. It would be to his shame, he thought, if he could not distance two men in heavy cowhide boots, encumbered with cloaks and sabres. So he started down the Rue de la Tombe-Issoire with a lead of some two hundred yards. He saw lights and a crowd and heard music in the Place St. Jacques, and knew that he was saved.
The Place St. Jacques was en fête. A band-stand occupied the spot long sacred to the guillotine, up to its last removal to La Roquette. The immediate neighborhood of Place St. Jacques would have preferred the guillotine and an occasional execution as a holiday enjoyment, but next to witnessing the sanguinary operation of the "national razor," a dance was the popular idea of amusement. And the Parisian populace must be amused. The government considers that a part of its duty, and encourages the "bal du carrefour" by the erection of stands and providing music at the general expense. It was the saturnine humor of Place St. Jacques to dance where men lost their heads. However, it would be difficult to find a street crossing in Paris big enough to dance in that had not been through the centuries soaked with human blood.