“One day more, O ’tzin, and all there is in the palace—king and stranger alike—is yours,” Io’ made answer. “More I need not say.”
“Then you go not back?”
“No,” said Tula.
“No,” said Io’. “I came out to fight. Anahuac is our mother. Let us save her, O ’tzin!”
And the ’tzin looked to the sun; his eyes withstood its piercing splendors awhile, then he said, calmly,—
“Go with the princess Tula where she chooses, Io’; then come back. The gods shall have one day more, though it be my last. Farewell.”
They arose and went away. He returned to the azoteas.
Next day there was not one meal in the palace. Starvation had come. And now the final battle, or surrender! Morning passed; noon came; later, the sun began to go down the sky. In the streets stood the thousands,—on all the housetops, on the temple, they stood,—waiting and looking, now at the leaguered house, now at the ’tzin seated at the verge of the teocallis, also waiting.
Suddenly a procession appeared on the central turret of the palace, and in its midst, Montezuma.
“The king! the king!” burst from every throat; then upon the multitude fell a silence, which could not have been deeper if the earth had opened and swallowed the city.