By this time Tecetl’s face was flushed, and her voice faint. Mualox filled the hollow of his hand with water, and laved her forehead. And she sighed wearily and continued,—
“The fair-faced god—”
“Mark the words, O king,—mark the words!” said the paba.
“The fair-faced god quits speaking; he waves his hand, and one of his company on the steps of the temple answers with a shout. Lo! a stream of fire, and a noise like the bursting of a cloud! a rising, rolling cloud of smoke veils the whole front of the house. How the smoke thickens! How the strangers rush into the square! The square itself trembles! I do not understand it, father—”
“It is battle! On, child! a king waits to see a god in battle.”
“In my pictures there is nothing like this, nor have you told me of anything like it. O, it is fearful!” she said. “The crowd in the middle of the square, those who came from the city, are broken, and rush here and there; at the gates they are beaten back; some, climbing the walls, are struck by arrows, and fall down screaming. Hark! how they call on the gods,—Huitzil’, Tezca’, Quetzal’. And why are they not heard? Where, father, where is the good Quetzal’?”
Flashed the paba’s eyes with the superhuman light,—other answer he deigned not; and she proceeded.
“What a change has come over the square! Where are they that awhile ago filled it with white robes and dancing plumes?”
She shuddered visibly.
“I look again. The pavement is covered with heaps of the fallen, and among them I see some with plumes and some with robes; even the censer-bearers lie still. What can it mean? And all the time the horror grows. When the thunder and fire and smoke burst from near the temple-steps, how the helpless in the square shriek with terror and run blindly about! How many are torn to pieces! Down they go; I cannot count them, they fall so fast, and in such heaps! Then—ah, the pavement looks red! O father, it is blood!”