Cipriano turned to the four peons. He held out his fist with the four black twigs, to the first. This first one, a little man, peered at the leaves curiously.
“There is no green one,” he said sceptically.
“Good!” said Cipriano. “Then receive a black.”
And he handed him a black leaf.
“I knew it,” said the man, and he threw the leaf away with contempt and defiance.
The second man drew a black leaf. He stood gazing at it, as if fascinated, turning it round.
The third man drew a leaf whose lower half was green.
“See!” said Cipriano. “The green leaf of Malintzi!”
And he handed the last black leaf to the last man.
“Have I got to die?” said the last man.