Piper [puzzled at their mirth]
  What the green one says.—­
[A burst of laughter from the crowd.  Jan, the little lame boy on the steps, reaches his arms out suddenly and gives a cry of delight.

Jan
Oh, I love the Man!

[He goes, with his crutch, to the piper, who turns and gathers him close.

Jacobus
[to the People]
Leave off this argument.

Kurt
  Go in to Mass.

Jacobus
Saint Willibald!

Piper
[in a rage]
That Saint!—­

Kurt
Hence, wandering dog!

Piper
Oho!—­Well, every Saint may have his day. 
But there are dog-days coming.—­Eh, your worship?
[To Anselm, suddenly]
You, there!  You—­Brother—­Father—­Uncle—­You! 
Speak!  Will you let them in, to say their prayers
And mock me through their fingers?—­Tell these men
To settle it, among their mouldy pockets,
Whether they keep their oath.  Then will I go.

Kurt
[savagely]
Away with you!—­

Anselm
  The Piper should be heard;
Ye know it well.  Render to Caesar, therefore,
That which is Caesar’s.

Piper
  —­Give the Devil his due!

Jacobus
[warily]
We must take counsel over such a sum.

[Beckoning others, he and Kurt go into the Rathaus, followed by all the men.  Exit Anselm with the Holy Book into the Minster.—­The children play Mouse, to and fro, round about the piper.—­The women, some of them, spin on the doorsteps, with little hand distaff’s, or stand about, gossiping.

[The piper wipes his forehead and goes up slowly (centre) to drink from the fountain at the foot of the Shrine.—­Michael, like one in a dream, comes down towards Barbara, who gazes back at him, fascinated, through her laughter.

Barbara
Is it for pay you loiter, Master Player? 
Were you not paid enough?

Michael
  No.—­One more look.

Barbara
Here, then.—­Still not enough?

MICHAEL

No!  One more smile.

Barbara
[agitated ]
Why would you have me smile?

Michael [passionately] Oh, when you smiled, It was—­it was like sunlight coming through Some window there, [Pointing to the Minster] —­some vision of Our Lady. [She drops her flowers.—­He picks them up and gives them back slowly.

Barbara
Who are you?  You are some one in disguise.

Michael
[bitterly]
A man—­that passes for a mountebank.

Barbara
[eagerly]
I knew!

Michael
  What then?

Barbara
Thou art of noble birth. 
’T is some disguise, this playing with the fire!