“I can commend my snuff,” said the Chalcan, bowing very low, “only a little less than the good taste of the most noble Maxtla.”
While speaking,—the scene being in his pulque room,—he uncovered a gilded jar sitting upon the counter.
“Help yourself; it is good to sneeze.”
Maxtla snuffed the scented drug freely, then rushed to the door, and through eyes misty with tears of pleasure looked at the sun rising over the mountains. A fit of sneezing seized him, at the end of which, a slave stood by his elbow with a ewer of water and a napkin. He bathed his face. Altogether, it was apparent that sneezing had been reduced to an Aztec science.
“Elegant! By the Sun, I feel inspired!”
“No doubt,” responded the Chalcan. “Such ought to be the effect of tobacco and rose-leaves, moistened with dew. But tell me; that tilmatli you are wearing is quite royal,—is it from the king?”
The young chief raised the folds of the mantle of plumaje, which he was sporting for the first time. “From the king? No; my tailor has just finished it.”
“Certainly, my lord. How dull I was! You are preparing for the banquet at the palace to-morrow night.”
“You recollect the two thousand quills of gold I bid for your priestess the other evening,” said Maxtla, paying no attention to the remark. “I concluded to change the investment; they are all in that collar and loop.”
Xoli examined the loop.