the steps and heavy breathing of his pursuers. The same silence.
Seeing that the knocking did not have any effect, he began to kick and beat the door in desperation. Then there appeared at the door a beautiful Baby with blue hair and a white face, like a waxen image, with her hands crossed on her breast. Scarcely moving her lips, she said, “In this house there is no one; they are all dead.”
“Open at least for me, won’t you?” cried Pinocchio, weeping.
“I am also dead.”
“Dead? and then how is it that you are at the window?”
“I am waiting for the hearse to carry me away.”
Scarcely had she said this when the Baby disappeared and the window closed without making any noise.
“Oh, beautiful Baby with the Blue Hair,” cried Pinocchio, “open the door, for goodness’ sake! Have compassion on a poor boy followed by assass—” But he could not finish the word because he felt himself seized by the neck and he heard the two bad voices scolding him and crying, “Now you can run away no more.”
The marionette, seeing death staring him in the face, trembled; so that all his joints made
