THE same day, in the evening, Xoli lay on a lounge by
the fountain under his portico. His position gave
him the range of the rooms, which glowed like day, and
resounded with life. He could even distinguish the occupations
of some of his guests. In fair view a group was listening
to a minstrel; beyond them he occasionally caught
sight of girls dancing; and every moment peals of laughter
floated out from the chambers of play. A number of persons,
whose arms and attire published them of the nobler
class, sat around the Chalcan in the screen of the curtains,
conversing, or listlessly gazing out on the square.

Gradually Xoli's revery became more dreamy; sleep stole
upon his senses, and shut out the lullaby of the fountain,
and drowned the influence of his cuisine. His patrons after
a while disappeared, and the watchers on the temples told the
passing time without awakening him. Very happy was the
Chalcan.

The slumber was yet strong upon him, when an old man

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and a girl came to the portico. The former, decrepit and
ragged, seated himself on the step. Scanty hair hung in
white locks over his face; and grasping a staff, he rested his
head wearily upon his hands, and talked to himself.

The girl approached the Chalcan with the muffled tread of
fear. She was clad in the usual dress of her class, — a
white chemise, with several skirts short and embroidered, over
which, after being crossed at the throat, a red scarf dropped
its tasseled ends nearly to her heels. The neatness of the
garments more than offset their cheapness. Above her forehead,
in the fillet that held the mass of black hair off her face,
leaving it fully exposed, there was the gleam of a common
jewel; otherwise she was without ornament. In all beauty
there is — nay, must be — an idea; so that a countenance
to be handsome even, must in some way at sight quicken a
sentiment or stir a memory in the beholder. It was so here.
To look at the old man's guardian was to know that she had
a sorrow to tell, and to pity her before it was told; to be
sure that under her tremulous anxiety there was a darksome
story and an extraordinary purpose, the signs of which, too
fine for the materialism of words, but plain to the sympathetic
inner consciousness, lurked in the corners of her
mouth, looked from her great black eyes, and blent with
every action.

Gliding over the marble, she stopped behind the sleeper,
and spoke, without awakening him; her voice was too
like the murmur of the fountain. Frightened at the
words, low as they were, she hesitated; but a look at
the old man reassured her, and she called again. Xoli
started.

“How now, mistress!” he said, angrily, reaching for her
hand.

“I want to see Xoli, the Chalcan,” she replied, escaping
his touch.

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“What have you to do with him?”

He sat up, and looked at her in wonder.

“What have you to do with him?” he repeated, in a
kindlier tone.

Her face kindled with a sudden intelligence. “Xoli!
The gods be praised! And their blessing on you, if you
will do a kind deed for a countryman!”

“Well! But what beggar is that? Came he with
you?”

“It is of him I would speak. Hear me!” she asked,
drawing near him again. “He is poor, but a Chalcan. If
you have memory of the city of your birth, be merciful to
his child.”

“His child! Who? Nay, it is a beggar's tale! Ho,
fellow! How many times have I driven you away already!
How dare you return!”

Slowly the old man raised his head from his staff, and
turned his face to the speaker; there was no light there: he
was blind!

“By the holy fires, no trick this! Say on, girl. He is a
Chalcan, you said.”

“A countryman of yours,” — and her tears fell fast. “A
hut is standing where the causeway leads from Chalco to
Iztapalapan; it is my father's. He was happy under its
roof; for, though blind and poor, he could hear my mother's
voice, which was the kindliest thing on earth to him. But
Our Mother called her on the coming of a bright morning,
and since then he has asked for bread, when I had not a
tuna* to give him. O Xoli! did you but know what it
is to ask for bread, when there is none! I am his child,
and can think of but one way to quiet his cry.” And she
paused, looking in his face for encouragement.

“Tell me your name, girl; tell me your name, then

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go on,” he said, with a trembling lip, for his soul was
clever.

At that instant the old man moaned querulously, “Yeteve,
Yeteve!”

She went, and clasped his neck, and spoke to him soothingly.
Xoli's eyes became humid; down in the depths of
his heart an emotion grew strangely warm.

“Yeteve, Yeteve!” he repeated, musingly, thinking the
syllables soft and pretty. “Come; stand here again,
Yeteve,” said he, aloud, when the dotard was pacified.
“He wants bread, you say: how would you supply him?”

“You are rich. You want many slaves; and the law
permits the poor to sell themselves.* I would be your
slave, — asking no price, except that you give the beggar
bread.”

“A slave! Sell yourself!” he cried, in dismay. “A
slave! Why, you are beautiful, Yeteve, and have not bethought
yourself that some day the gods may want you for
a victim.”

She was silent.

“What can you do? Dance? Sing? Can you weave soft
veils and embroider golden flowers, like ladies in the palaces?
If you can, no slave in Anahuac will be so peerless;
the lords will bid more cocoa than you can carry; you will
be rich.”

“If so, then can I do all you have said.”

And she ran, and embraced the old man, saying, “Patience,
patience! In a little while we will have bread, and be
rich. Yes,” she continued, returning to the Chalcan, “they
taught me in the teocallis, where they would have had me as
priestess.”

“It is good to be a priestess, Yeteve; you should have
stayed there.”

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“But I did so love the little hut by the causeway. And
I loved the beggar, and they let me go.”

“And now you wish to sell yourself? I want slaves, but
not such as you, Yeteve. I want those who can work, —
slaves whom the lash will hurt, but not kill. Besides, you
are worth more cocoa than I can spare. Keep back your
tears. I will do better than buy you myself. I will sell
you, and to-night. Here in my house you shall dance for
the bidders. I know them all. He shall be brave and rich
and clever who buys, — clever and brave, and the owner of
a palace, full of bread for the beggar, and love for Yeteve.”

Clapping his hands, a slave appeared at the door.

“Take you beggar, and give him to eat. Lead him, — he
is blind. Come, child, follow me.”

He summoned his servants, and bade them publish the
sale in every apartment; then he led the girl to the hall
used for the exhibition of his own dancing-girls. It was
roomy and finely lighted; the floor was of polished marble;
a blue drop-curtain extended across the northern end, in
front of which were rows of stools, handsomely cushioned,
for spectators. Music, measured for the dance, greeted the
poor priestess, and had a magical effect upon her; her eyes
brightened, a smile played about her mouth. Never was
the chamber of the rich Chalcan graced by a creature fairer
or more devoted.

“A priestess of the dance needs no teaching from me,” said
Xoli, patting her flushed cheek. “Get ready; they are coming.
Beware of the marble; and when I clap my hands, begin.”

She looked around the hall once; not a point escaped
her. Springing to the great curtain, and throwing her robe
away, she stood before it in her simple attire; and no studied
effect of art could have been more beautiful; motionless and
lovely, against the relief of the blue background, she seemed
actually spirituelle.

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Upon the announcement of the auction, the patrons of the
house hurried to the scene. Voluntary renunciation of
freedom was common enough among the poorer classes in
Tenochtitlan, but a transaction of the kind under the auspices
of the rich broker was a novelty; so that curiosity and
expectation ran high. The nobles, as they arrived, occupied
the space in front of the curtain, or seated themselves,
marvelling at the expression of her countenance.

The music had not ceased; and the bidders being gathered,
Xoli, smiling with satisfaction, stepped forward to give
the signal, when an uproar of merriment announced the
arrival of a party of the younger dignitaries of the court, —
amongst them Iztlil', the Tezcucan, and Maxtla, chief of the
guard, the former showing signs of quick recovery from his
wounds, the latter superbly attired.

“Hold! What have we here?” cried the Tezcucan, surveying
the girl. “Has this son of Chalco been robbing the
palace?”

“The temples, my lord Iztlil'! He has robbed the temples!
By all the gods, it is the priestess Yeteve!” answered
Maxtla, amazed. “Say, Chalcan, what does priestess of the
Blessed Lady in such unhallowed den?”

The broker explained.

“Good, good!” shouted the new-comers.

“Begin, Xoli! A thousand cocoa for the priestess, —
millions of bread for the beggar!” This from Maxtla.

“Only a thousand?” said Iztlil', scornfully. “Only a
thousand? Five thousand to begin with, more after she
dances.”

Xoli gave the signal, and the soul of the Chalcan girl
broke forth in motion. Dancing had been her rôle in the
religious rites of the temple; many a time the pabas around
the altar, allured by her matchless grace, had turned from
the bleeding heart indifferent to its auguration. And she

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had always danced moved by no warmer impulse than duty;
so that the prompting of the spirit in the presence of a
strange auditory free to express itself, like that she now
faced, came to her for the first time. The dance chosen was
one of the wild, quick, pulsating figures wont to be given in
thanksgiving for favorable tokens from the deity. The steps
were irregular and difficult; a great variety of posturing was
required; the head, arms, and feet had each their parts, all
to be rendered in harmony. At the commencement she was
frightened by the ecstasy that possessed her; suddenly the
crowd vanished, and she saw only the beggar, and him
wanting bread. Then her form became divinely gifted; she
bounded as if winged; advanced and retreated, a moment
swaying like a reed, the next whirling like a leaf in a circling
wind. The expression of her countenance throughout was
so full of soul, so intense, rapt, and beautiful, that the
lords were spell-bound. When the figure was ended, there
was an outburst of voices, some bidding, others applauding;
though most of the spectators were silent from pity and
admiration.

Of the competitors the loudest was Iztlil'. In his excitement,
he would have sacrificed his province to become the
owner of the girl. Maxtla opposed him.

“Five thousand cocoa! Hear, Chalcan!” shouted the
Tezcucan.

“A thousand better!” answered Maxtla, laughing at the
cacique's rage.

“By all the gods, I will have her! Put me down a
thousand quills of gold!”

“A thousand quills above him! Not bread, but riches
for the beggar!” replied Maxtla, half in derision.

“Two thousand, — only two thousand quills! More,
noble lords! She is worth a palace!” sung Xoli, trembling
with excitement; for in such large bids he saw an

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extraordinary loan. Just then, under the parted curtain of the
principal doorway, he beheld one dear to every lover of
Tenochtitlan; he stopped. All eyes turned in that direction,
and a general exclamation followed, — “The 'tzin, the 'tzin!”

Guatamozin was in full military garb, and armed. As he
lingered by the door to comprehend the scene, what with his
height, brassy helm, and embossed shield, he looked like a
Greek returned from Troy.

“Yeteve, the priestess!” he said. “Impossible!”

He strode to the front.

“How?” he said, placing his hand on her head. “Has
Yeteve flown the temple to become a slave?”

Up to this time, it would seem that, in the fixedness of
her purpose, she had been blind to all but the beggar, and
deaf to everything but the music. Now she knelt at the
feet of the noble Aztec, sobbing broken-heartedly. The
spectators were moved with sympathy, — all save one.

“Who stays the sale? By all the gods, Chalcan, you shall
proceed!”

Scarcely had the words been spoken, or the duller faculties
understood them, before Guatamozin confronted the
speaker, his javelin drawn, and his shield in readiness.
Naturally his countenance was womanly gentle; but the
transition of feeling was mighty, and those looking upon him
then shrank with dread; it was as if their calm blue lake
had in an instant darkened with storm. Face to face he
stood with the Tezcucan, the latter unprepared for combat,
but in nowise daunted. In their angry attitude a seer
might have read the destiny of Anahuac.

One thrust of the javelin would have sent the traitor to
Mictlan; the Empire, as well as the wrongs of the lover,
called for it; but before the veterans, recovering from their
panic, could rush between the foemen, all the 'tzin's calmness
returned.

p733-139

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“Xoli,” he said, “a priestess belongs to the temple, and
cannot be sold; such is the law. The sale would have sent
your heart, and that of her purchaser, to the Blessed
Lady. Remove the girl. I will see that she is taken
to a place of safety. Here is gold; give the beggar what he
wants, and keep him until to-morrow. — And, my lords and
brethren,” he added, turning to the company, “I did not
think to behave so unseemly. It is only against the enemies
of our country that we should turn our arms. Blood is
sacred, and accursed is his hand who sheds that of a countryman
in petty quarrel. I pray you, forget all that has
passed.” And with a low obeisance to them, he walked
away, taking with him the possibility of further rencounter.

He had just arrived from his palace at Iztapalapan.