e his palace, in the sun,
He sat to see his people pass,
And judge them every one"

--and as she tells the manner of his judging, Luigi again exclaims:

"That king should still judge, sitting in the sun!"

But the song goes on--

"His councillors, to left and right,
Looked anxious up--but no surprise
Disturbed the king's old smiling eyes,
Where the very blue had turned to white";

and those eyes kept their tranquillity even when, as legend tells, a
Python one day "scared the breathless city," but coming, "with forked
tongue and eyes on flame," to where the king sat, and seeing the sweet
venerable goodness of him, did not dare

"Approach that threshold in the sun,
Assault the old king smiling there . . .
Such grace had kings when the world begun!"

"And such grace have they, now that the world ends!"

cries Luigi bitterly, for at Vienna the Python _is_ the king, and brave
men lurk in corners "lest they fall his prey." . . . He hesitates no
more--

"'Tis God's voice calls: how could I stay? Farewell!"

and rushes from the turret, resolute for Vienna.

By going he escapes the police, for it had been decided that if he
stayed at Asolo that night he should be arrested at once. He still may
lose his life, for he will try to kill the Emperor; but he will then
have been true to his deepest convictions--and thus Pippa's passing,
Pippa's song, have for the third time helped a soul to know itself.

+ + + + +

Unwitting as before, she goes on to the house near the Duomo Santa
Maria, where the Fourth Happiest One, the Monsignor of her final
choice, "that holy and beloved priest," is to stay to-night. And now,
for the first time, we are to see her, though only for the barest
instant, come into actual contact with some fellow-creatures.

Four "poor girls" are sitting on the steps of the Santa Maria. We hear
them talk with one another before Pippa reaches them: they are playing a
"wishing game," originated by one who, watching the swallows fly towards
Venice, yearns for their wings. She is not long from the country; her
dreams are still of new milk and apples, and

". . . the farm among
The cherry-orchards, and how April snowed
White blossom on her as she ran."

So says one of her comrades scornfully, and tells her how of course the
home-folk have been careful to blot out all memories of one wh