“Quien sabe!” murmured Juana.
“They say,” said the bold Concha, “that in Paradise he has grown young.”
“Who?” asked Juana.
“I don’t know how they call him,” muttered Concha, ashamed to say the word.
“Quetzalcoatl!” said Ezequiel, in his barking strong young voice. “Yes, he is young. He is a god in the flower of life, and finely built.”
“They say so! They say so!” murmured Juana. “Think of it!”
“Here it says so!” cried Ezequiel. “Here it is written. In the second Hymn.”
“Read it then, Julio.”
And Julio, now nothing loth, took out a second paper.
“I, Quetzalcoatl, of Mexico, I travelled the longest journey.