THE FAIR GOD (Illustrated Edition). Lew Wallace

under any pretence, until the further pleasure of the king is made known to him.”

      “Banished, banished! But that the noble Maxtla told me, I could not believe what I hear.”

      “Certainly. The affair is mysterious, as were the means by which the result was brought about. Look you, Chalcan: the ’tzin loved the princess, and was contracted to her, and now comes this banishment just the day before the valley is called to witness her betrothal to the Tezcucan. Certainly, it would ill become the ’tzin to be a guest at such a banquet.”

      “I understand,” said Xoli, with a cunning smile. “It was to save his pride that he was banished.”

      “If to be a Chalcan is to be so stupid, I thank the gods for making me what I am!” cried Maxtla, impatiently. “What cares the great king for the pride of the enemy he would humble! The banishment is a penalty,—it is ruin.”

      There was a pause, during which the Chalcan hung his head.

      “Ah, Xoli! The king has changed; he used to be a warrior, loving warriors as the eagle loves its young. Now—alas! I dare not speak. Time was when no envious-hearted knave could have made him believe that Guatamozin was hatching treason in his garden at Iztapalapan. Now, surrounded by mewling priests, he sits in the depths of his palace, and trembles, and, like a credulous child, believes everything. ‘Woe is Tenochtitlan!’ said Mualox; and the days strengthen the prophecy. But enough,—more than enough! Hist, Chalcan! What I have said and you listened to—yea, the mere listening—would suffice, if told in the right ears, to send us both straightway to the tigers. I have paid you for your snuff, and the divine sneeze. In retailing, recollect, I am not the manufacturer. Farewell.”

      “Stay a moment, most noble chief,—but a moment,” said the Chalcan. “I have invented a drink which I desire you to inaugurate. If I may be counted a judge, it is fit for a god.”

      “A judge! You? Where is the man who would deny you that excellence? Your days have been spent in the practice; nay, your whole life has been one long, long drink. Make haste. I will wager pulque is chief in the compound.”

      The broker went out, and directly returned, bearing on a waiter a Cholulan goblet full of cool liquor, exquisitely colored with the rich blood of the cactus apple. Maxtla sipped, drank, then swore the drink was without a rival.

      “Look you, Chalcan. They say we are indebted to our heroes, our minstrels, and our priests, and I believe so; but hereafter I shall go farther in the faith. This drink is worth a victory, is pleasant as a song, and has all the virtues of a prayer. Do not laugh. I am in earnest. You shall be canonized with the best of them. To show that I am no vain boaster, you shall come to the banquet to-morrow, and the king shall thank you. Put on your best tilmatli, and above all else, beware that the vase holding this liquor is not empty when I call for it. Farewell!”