Why should he be sought for? The wounded sentry must have gathered some of his scattered wits and remembered something of the spy's escape from the South Tower.
"The Count honors me," he said; "and if he makes a captain of me, we'll have merry times. I'll come with you; but at the top of the street yonder is the Barbe Noire, where is good liquor, and I have the wherewithal to pay. What say you? The Count is in no such hurry that he cannot wait another hour after waiting two days."
"The Barbe Noire let it be," they cried; and with Jean in their midst, they went up the street, Mercier following them.
But they drank no ale or wine at the Barbe Noire that night. Within a hundred yards of it there was a side street leading to the old markets, around which there was a perfect network of alleys and byways. As they came abreast of this street, the dwarf suddenly wrenched his arms free, dropped to the ground, and catching one of the soldiers by the legs, pitched him over his back among his comrades, and in a moment was rushing along the side street. In anticipation of the drink, and believing that the dwarf had no desire to get away from them, the soldiers were unprepared for this manœuvre, and were utterly taken by surprise; so that the dwarf had travelled some distance before they took up the pursuit. For the second time that night Jean's ingenuity was taxed to lose his enemies.
The pursuit was not long confined to the soldiers. Mercier was the first to join in it, and then some idlers about the corners of the old markets began to run, until presently a mob of forty or fifty were making the streets echo with their hurrying feet.
Jean had not enough advantage in the race to enable him to deliberate which way he should take. He had no desire to draw his pursuers into the Place Beauvoisin where, even if he succeeded in eluding them, they might watch for a long time, and prevent his gaining entrance to the Countess Elisabeth's house. But presently there seemed no other way for him to take with any reasonable hope of safety. He entered the square by a narrow thoroughfare close to the high wall which surrounded the house, and had a moment's respite before the crowd turned the corner. Adjoining the high wall there was a lower one, surrounding a yard. To run across the square and escape by the other entrance would carry him into well-lighted streets, where a hundred others might join in the chase, and where he was almost certain to be captured. His decision was taken in an instant. With a spring, such as some great ape might make, he was upon this lower wall, and another bound took him to the top of the high wall. No light shone upon it, and he lay down along it full length upon his stomach. A moment later, the crowd was rushing past underneath him.
A pause was made when no one was seen flying across the square, and a dozen voices began to shout advice. He had done this! He had done that! He had never entered the square! He had managed to cross it before they had got in! It was a babel of tongues, everybody shouting, no one listening.
Jean had seen no one as he sprang on to the wall, but the crowd saw a man in the square, and rushed toward him.
"Which way did he go?" they cried.
Jean ventured to raise his head a little. He could not hear the man's answer, but since the crowd did not rush back to the wall, he concluded that either the man had not noticed him, or had no intention of betraying him.