"Will my brother prattle like Malintzin?" demanded the monarch, sternly. "Where is the freedom of Zempoala, of Tlascala, of Cholula? The people talk of it, while a Spaniard strikes them with a lash. Where is the freedom of Tezcuco? The young king, who is a boy, sits on the throne; but the Spaniard, whom my brother struck in the face with a sword, when he chased Olin-pilli, is there with him, and he robs and abuses the people, so that they have sent their tears to Malintzin. What was the fate of Montezuma? He sat in the Spaniards' house in chains, and the soldiers murdered his nobles, who danced in peace in the courtyard. What was the fate of Montezuma? The Spaniard, who is lord of the king of Tezcuco, would have done violence to the captive maiden—Does my brother remember?"
"Ay!" replied Juan, with the gleam of passion that visited his eyes, only when he spoke of Guzman: "I remember, and I hope yet to avenge—Sinner that I am, I cannot think it a crime, to covet the blood of this man!—But, prince, let me know—My captivity is very hard—Why should I not be allowed to speak with the princess? Why should my sister be hidden from me?"
The countenance of Guatimozin darkened.
"When my brother will fight for them, he shall be at liberty. My brother thinks again of the canoe at the bottom of the garden?"
Juan coloured, and said,
"You keep me a prisoner—I strove to escape. The king mocks me, to call me his brother."
"The warriors are very angry, yet the Great Eagle is alive. He cannot go among them in safety, unless as their friend."
"And who," said Juan, "shall warrant me of safety, if I go even as a friend?"
He deemed it now the period to commence acting upon his scheme of escape, yet hesitated, stung with shame at the thought of the duplicity to which he was descending.—"It is better to die on the dikes than to pine in the dungeon."
Guatimozin's eye gleamed with a sudden fire: