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 who has come to the town to lead the life _she_ leads. She may be sure the old people have rubbed out the mark showing how tall she was on the door, and have "Twisted her starling's neck, broken his cage, Made a dung-hill of her garden!" She acquiesces mournfully, but loses herself again in memories: of her fig-tree that curled out of the cottage wall-- "They called it mine, I have forgotten why" --and the noise the wasps made, eating the long papers that were strung there to keep off birds in fruit-time. . . . As she murmurs thus to herself, her mouth twitches, and the same girl who had laughed before, laughs now again: "Would I be such a fool!"--and tells _her_ wish. The country-goose wants milk and apples, and another girl could think of nothing better than to wish "the sunset would finish"; but Zanze has a real desire, something worth talking about! It is that somebody she knows, somebody "greyer and older than her grandfather," would give her the same treat he gave last week-- "Feeding me on his knee with fig-peckers, Lampreys and red Breganze wine;" while she had stained her fingers red by "Dipping them in the wine to write bad words with On the bright table: how he laughed!"