"And for how long to remain such a guest?" asked Montezuma. He was beginning to waver, not indeed from inward conviction of the truth of the plausible words, but from a growing knowledge that they covered an iron, inflexible resolve; and that he would be allowed no power to summon any of his subjects to his aid from this snare, but at the peril of instant death from that circle of ready, flashing swords. "How long would you that I should thus abide amongst you, Malinche?" "Until Guanhpopoea and his warriors shall have obeyed your summons hither, to answer for their crimes." "Crimes," repeated the Emperor. "Their crime, it is but one, Malinche." "Not so," was the stern, cold answer, while Hernando's piercing eyes fixed themselves with a full gaze upon the monarch's face. "Not so, your Majesty. For one crime, there is the unprovoked slaughter of our brethren. That is for us to avenge. For the other crime, there is the presumptuous warfare waged by your general against those with whom you are at peace, and without your will or knowledge. That is the act of a rebel. That is for you to avenge, that insult to your supreme authority. And it merits--death!" Before that look, and at that word, Montezuma blanched, as before a fatal blow, and he grew pale as death himself. Even Montoro, in his secret heart, asked himself whether a faithful general were not about to suffer, not for presumption, but for too great fidelity to one who knew the arts of treachery, and of wearing a double face, almost as well as did his Spanish brethren themselves. One more feeble effort Montezuma made to maintain the dignity of his sovereignty. "My people will never submit to such an indignity for me, as that I should quit my own royal domain to take up my dwelling with a handful of needy strangers, who have to be dependent on our bounty even for the food they eat." But this last remonstrance was as vain as all the others had been. "Your word is law with your people," said Cortes. "Give your orders, and you will be obeyed. I, on my part, swear to you, by St. Jago, that nought now or ever, on the part of myself or my followers, shall lower you in the eyes of your subjects." And so far, to the letter, Cortes did at least keep his word. From the outward show of respect and deference towards the unhappy monarch he never permitted his rough soldiers to depart, when that golden litter, and the Aztec nobles, had for the second time borne the once all-powerful Emperor of Mexico to those Spanish quarters, which were henceforth to be his sad prison during the short remainder of his life.