At his first encounter with the Tezcucan princess, Nahuitla was deeply impressed with a peculiar expression of thoughtfulness, shading a brilliantly beautiful countenance, and imposing a kind of constrained awe upon the stranger. This shadow gradually disappeared upon a further acquaintance, till the whole face and person were so lighted up with the fire of her genius and wit, that it seemed as if invested with a supernatural halo. Their intercourse was a perfect tournament of wit, and their brilliant sallies and sparkling repartees, were the theme of universal admiration. The princess Atlacan was always attended by a very prudent, watchful, anxious chaperone, of a fair exterior, and pleasing manners, who had passed the meridian of life, and begun to wane into the cool of its evening. She had also a brother, Maxtli, considerably older than herself, who, from a two-fold motive, seemed to delight in disappointing her expectations, and thwarting her plans. He was a cold, mercenary, selfish man, who sought only his own aggrandizement. The princess was a special favorite of her father, who was a prince of the highest rank, and nearly related to the reigning king of Tezcuco. She had already received many substantial proofs of parental partiality, which her avaricious brother would fain have claimed for himself. Her brilliant qualities and growing influence made her an object of jealousy, as seeming to stand in the way of his own preferment. He had used every exertion to dispose of her in marriage to some of her numerous suitors, and had particularly advocated the cause of a wealthy young merchant of Cholula, who rejoiced in the euphonous name of Xitentlóxiltlitl, from whom Maxtli had received large presents of gold and jewels. Atlacan despised the merchant, who fondly imagined that his gold could purchase any jewel in the realm. She would not listen to his proposals. It was not pride of family, for in Anahuac, under the Aztec dynasty, the merchant was a man of note, scarcely inferior to the proudest noble. But the merchant was _only_ a merchant, a man of one idea, and that was gold, without refinement, without sentiment, without heart, like the majority of the same class of mere money mongers all the world over.