He felt that all of this would not prove very imposing for Femke. Finally:
“I do know something, but it isn’t about faith and the creed. It’s about Glorioso.”
Femke promised to listen, and he began to relate the story. At first he spoke mechanically, using all the “and then’s”: but soon he put himself into the soul of the hero and told the story better than he had read it in the greasy book. At every deed of Glorioso he would spring from the basket and act the part of that hero in a way that made Femke’s blood run cold. Still, how magnificent she found it! And when at last he was through, a spark from his peculiar but sincere enthusiasm had fallen into her heart, which like his beat with delight over the beauty of what she had heard. Her cheeks glowed—really, if a Treckschent had started to Italy at that moment I believe she would have gone along, in order to take part in so much danger and adventure—and love. The nicest thing about the story was that it showed how firm such a robber is in the faith.
“Don’t you know another story?”
“Yes,” said Walter. “One more. It’s in a little book—a calendar, I believe.”
And he related the story of Telasco and Kusco and the beautiful Aztalpa.
Telasco and Kusco, sons of the King of the Sun-worshipers, were twins; and so both were equally near the throne. They loved each other devotedly; so which would give way for the other? Which of the two was to become Inca? Funeral pyres were built, one for each, and prayers were offered to the sun that one of the piles might be ignited. But the sun did not light either. He ordered that Aztalpa, the sister, should choose one. That one to whom she offered her hand should inherit the throne and the empire. But the princess could not decide, for she loved them both dearly and both equally. It was then decided that both should go out hunting on a certain morning, and that the one who killed the first doe should become king. Telasco had red arrows, Kusco blue. The morning came. The brothers were lying in a thicket as the deer approached. Both fired, and both missed. Then they swore mutually not to miss intentionally the next time. They kept the oath, and two deer fell; but Telasco had shot one of Kusco’s arrows, and Kusco one of Telasco’s. Telasco then proposed that Aztalpa should be killed, to avoid any discord in the empire; and in the other world both would enjoy the same place in her affections. All agreed to this; but when the fatal day came, Aztalpa fell on her knees before Telasco and begged that she might receive her death at the hand of Kusco. Telasco cried: “Aztalpa, you have chosen!” All bowed down before Kusco; and when they looked for Telasco he had disappeared. He was never seen again.
Often Femke interrupted with questions, for there was much that was strange and wonderful to her; but she was charmed with the story and shared all of Walter’s enthusiasm.
“I tell you, though, Walter, if that girl had known what Telasco was up to she wouldn’t have done it. But the story is beautiful. I wonder if such things really happen.”
“That was far from here, Femke, and a long time ago. That’s just the way it was in the book. But now I must go home, for I haven’t a stiver to pay the gate-keeper if I come in after eight. Oh, Femke—if I were only through with that poetry business.”