“Ah, by the Mother that keeps me! Always here! And the sky, and sun, and stars, and all God’s glory of nature, seen in the valleys, mountains, and rivers, and seas,—have they been denied you, poor girl?”
“I have seen them all,” she answered.
“Where?”
“On the ceiling and walls.”
He looked up at the former, and noticed its excellence of representation.
“Very good,—beautiful!” he said, in the way of criticism. “Who did the work?”
“Quetzal’.”
“And who is Quetzal’?”
“Who should know better than the god himself?”
“Me?”