“This way, O king! Though your servant cannot let you see into the Sun, or give you the sign required, follow him, and he will bring you to hear of events in Cholula even as they transpire. Remember, however, he says now that the Cholulans and the twenty thousand warriors will fail, and the night bring you but sorrow and repentance.”
Along the aisles he conducted him, until they came to the fountain, where the monarch stopped again. The light there was brighter than in the rest of the hall. A number of birds flew up, scared by the stranger; in the space around the marble basin stood vases crowned with flowers; the floor was strewn with wreaths and garlands; the water sparkled with silvery lustre; yet all were lost on the wondering guest, who saw only Tecetl,—a vision, once seen, to be looked at again and again.
Upon a couch, a little apart from the fountain, she sat, leaning against a pile of cushions, which was covered by a mantle of plumaje. Her garments were white, and wholly without ornament; her hair strayed lightly from a wreath upon her head; the childish hands lay clasped in her lap; upon the soft mattress rested the delicate limbs, covered, but not concealed, the soles of the small feet tinted with warmth and life, like the pink and rose lining of certain shells. So fragile, innocent, and beautiful looked she, and so hushed and motionless withal,—so like a spirituality,—that the monarch’s quick sensation of sympathy shot through his heart an absolute pain.
“Disturb her not; let her sleep,” he whispered, waving his hand.
Mualox smiled.
“Nay, the full battle-cry of your armies would not waken her.”
The influence of the Will was upon her, stronger than slumber. Not yet was she to see a human being other than the paba,—not even the great king. A little longer was she to be happy in ignorance of the actual world. Ah, many, many are the victims of affection unwise in its very fulness!
Again and again the monarch scanned the girl’s face, charmed, yet awed. The paba had said the sleep was wakeless; and that was a mystery unreported by tradition, unknown to his philosophy, and rarer, if not greater, than death. If life at all, what kind was it? The longer he looked and reflected, the lovelier she grew. So completely was his credulity gained that he thought not once of questioning Mualox about her; he was content with believing.
The paba, meantime, had been holding one of her hands, and gazing intently in her face. When he looked up, the monarch was startled by his appearance; his air was imposing, his eyes lighted with the mesmeric force.
“Sit, O king, and give ear. Through the lips of his child, Quetzal’ will speak, and tell you of the day in Cholula.”