No doubt the father expounded the doctrines as convincingly as possible under the circumstances; and with as much effect, probably, as was expected of the perfunctory mockery by the Spaniards themselves: at any rate, not convincingly enough, but with the effect looked for and desired; for Atahualpa, firing at the suggestion of vassalage, reddens with anger, and demanding of Valverde his credentials and authority, seizes the breviary, turns its pages rapidly, then casts it upon the ground with right kingly scorn and rage. "Tell your general," says he, with hot pride, "and let him say it to his emperor, that I am no man’s vassal! And say further that before I leave this place your people shall account to me for every act of presumption or violence done within my territories!" Shocked at the sacrilege offered the holy book, the good father snatches it from among the feet of the heathens. The doughty Aldana claps hand to his sword with Spanish bravado,—even draws it, says one,—but the priest is scuttling across the plaza to Pizarro, who is waiting in the building occupied by the infantry. Aldana follows. The wretched farce is ended—a farce truly Spanish, as what follows is truly and characteristically Spanish. The door opens again, and Father Valverde, pale to the lips, enters and stands before Pizarro, who is no less pale, but infinitely more composed. Back of him in the dim obscurity of the great hall is massed the infantry, every sword bared, every pike and halberd clutched with nerves strained by long suspense. The priest, his voice husky with excitement and rage at the indignity put upon the holy book, and, it may be, at the unconcealed contempt with which he was received by the monarch, exclaims:— "Dost not see—dost not see what is taking place? Whilst we are engaged in courtesies and parley with this dog full of pride, the plains are filled with his warriors! Fall upon him! Fall upon him!—I absolve you!" Pizarro makes no reply, but flushes with unaccustomed color, and steps out of the door into the plaza, in his hand a white scarf. The Inca, with the frown deepening upon his stern, calm face, sees him raise it over his head, and wonders what new idleness——