They would glut a last revenge, they would sacrifice to their fathers' gods as their fathers had done before them, and the victims should be taken from their own victorious foes.

Ay, they must die, but at the least they would seek the Mansions of the Sun made holy by the blood of the accursed Teule.
I have said that it was the women who sang this chant and glared so fiercely upon the victims, but I have not yet told all the horror of what I saw, for in the fore-front of their circle, clad in white robes, the necklet of great emeralds, Guatemoc's gift, flashing upon her breast, the plumes of royal green set in her hair, giving the time of the death chant with a little wand, stood Montezuma's daughter, Otomie my wife.

Never had I seen her look so beautiful or so dreadful.

It was not Otomie whom I saw, for where was the tender smile and where the gentle eyes?
Here before me was a living Vengeance wearing the shape of woman.

In an instant I guessed the truth, though I did not know it all.
Otomie, who although she was not of it, had ever favoured the Christian faith, Otomie, who for years had never spoken of these dreadful rites except with anger, whose every act was love and whose every word was kindness, was still in her soul an idolater and a savage.