I saw. At first, as he spoke, I had been filled with rage that he, my best and closest friend, should have suggested such a thing. But as he continued I realized the truth of what he said, the importance of sacrificing my feelings in order to impress the people, the loss to my cause if I failed to carry out my rôle as priest of the Plumed Serpent, as the son of Kukulcan. And so, despite my tortured mind and breaking heart, despite my grief, my rage, my impatience, my mad desire to be searching for my beloved one, I summoned my guard, entered my litter, and accompanied by the prince started towards the temple as usual. At my appearance, the crowds that thronged the streets gazed in amazement. What magic was this? They knew we had forced our way into the temple--our men had reported our rash and sacrilegious act--we had never come forth, and yet, here we were emerging from my palace, carried in my golden litter towards my own temple, unharmed, apparently as calm, as untroubled as ever. No wonder they stared at me incredulously. And then, from hundreds of throats, wild cheers, cries of delight, triumphant shouts arose. “The son of Kukulcan!” they screamed. “The Serpent God is the Great God!” “Itzimin Chac walks with the gods!” “The bearer of the token lives forever!” “Those who walk with Itzimin Chac have the favor of Kukulcan!” “The Prince Azcopil walks with the son of Kukulcan!” “The power of Kinchi Haman wanes!” “Where is the hunchback priest?” “Death to him who would injure the Great One!” Yes, Azcopil had been right. My appearance had been a master stroke. Kinchi Haman was losing ground. From the temple I would exhort, threaten, promise the people. I would work upon their excitable, superstitious natures, and would rouse them to the point where they would follow me to the innermost sanctums of the Temple of the Sun. Yet there were many who still favored Kinchi Haman. I could hear their shouts, their cries above the din. But they seemed to be greatly in the minority, and I noticed that those who were still loyal to the priest were of the poorest, most ignorant class, the rag-tag and bobtail, the gutter-sweepings and ragamuffins of the city. * * * * * I REACHED the temple and mounted to the terrace, while high above the summit of the neighboring temple the multicolored flames waved like banners.