Acatlan said, “You are very good, my lord, to remember my child. She chose to remain below.”
“She is not sick, I hope.”
“Not sick, yet not well.”
“Ah! the trouble is of the mind, perhaps. How old is she now.”
“Old enough to be in love, if that is your meaning.”
Cuitlahua smiled. “That is not a sickness, but a happiness; so, at least, the minstrels say.”
“What ails Nenetzin?” asked the king.
Acatlan cast down her eyes, and hesitated.
“Speak! What ails her?”
“I hardly know. She hardly knows herself,” the queen answered. “If I am to believe what she tells me, the lord Cuitlahua is right; she is in love.”