And so it was. The reserve armies which had been reposing in the vales behind Chapultepec all marched to the city; and the noise of their shouting, drumming, and trumpeting, when they arrived and began to occupy its thoroughfares and strong places, was like the roar of the sea.
To the garrison, under arms meantime, and suffering from the influence of all they heard, the dawn was a long time coming; but at last the sun came, and poured its full light over the leaguered palace and courtly precincts.
But the foemen stood idly looking at each other; for in the night, Cortes, on his side, had made preparations for peace. Two caciques went from him to the king Cuitlahua, proposing a parley; and the king replied that he would come in the morning, and hear what he had to say. So there was truce as well as sunshine.
“Tell me truly, Don Pedro,—as thou art a gentleman, tell me,—didst thou ever see a sight like this?”
Whereupon, Alvarado, who, with others, was leaning against the parapet which formed part of the battlements of the eastern gate of the palace, looked again, and critically, over that portion of the square visible from his position, and replied,—“I will answer truly and lovingly as if thou wert my little princess yonder in the patio. Sight like this I never saw, and”—he added, with a quizzical smile—“never care to see again.”
Orteguilla persisted,—
“Nay, didst thou ever see anything that surpassed it?”
Once more Alvarado surveyed the scene,—of men a myriad, in the streets rank upon rank; so on the houses and temple,—everywhere the glinting of arms, and the brown faces of warriors glistening above their glistening shields; everywhere escaupiles of flaming red, and banners; everywhere the ineffable beauty and splendor of royal war. The good captain withdrew his enamoured gaze slowly:—
“No, never!” he said.
Even he, the prince of gibes and strange oaths, forgot his tricks in presence of the pageant.