"Trust not Malinché," added Karee. "Was it not trust in him that brought all this evil upon us? Think not of submission. You shall see that women can die as well as men. Let Malinché come, and take possession of the remains of these mutilated walls and desolated gardens, but let him not claim one living Aztec, to be his slave, or his subject." A murmur of approbation followed, and then a long pause ensued. It was like the silence of death. The whole scene would have made an admirable picture. At length the silence was broken by the voice of the young Cacique of Tlacopan. "My sovereign," said he, in a faint voice, but with something of the energy of despair, "there is yet hope. Let us muster what force we can, of men who are able to stand, and sally out upon the enemy. We cannot do him much harm. But, while he is occupied with us, you and your family, with a few attendants can escape by a canoe over the lake. As many of us as have life and strength to do it, will follow you, under cover of the coming night. Your old subjects will flock around you there, and we may yet, when we shall have tasted food, and become men again, make a stand somewhere against the foe, and drive him out." "It is well! it is well!" was the feeble response on every side. "I cannot leave you," replied the monarch. "What! shall your king fly, like a coward, while his people rush upon the enemy only to cover his retreat? No, that were worse than death--worse than captivity!" "It is not flight, my beloved sovereign," responded the Cacique, "it is an honorable stratagem of war, for the good of the nation, not less than your own. When _you_ are gone, we have no head, and we fall at once into the captivity we so much dread. Leave us but the name and person of Guatimozin to rally around, and it will be a tower of strength, which can never fail us." "Yes, yes, it is right," was whispered on every side--"Go, noble monarch, go at once. It is a voice from heaven to save us."