“Of the world in which you may find the originals of all that is painted on the walls, more beautiful than colors can make them?”
He received the same reply, but, still incredulous, went on.
“Who takes care of these plants?”
“My father.”
“A servant brings your food to the door—may he do so again! Have you not seen him?”
“No.”
“Where does the oil that feeds the lamps come from?”
“From Quetzal’.”
Just then a lamp went out. He arose hastily, and saw that the contents of the cup were entirely consumed. “Tecetl, is there plenty of oil? Where do you keep it? Tell me.”
“In a jar, there by the door. While you were asleep, I refilled the cups, and now the jar is empty.”