This quick-spoken and benevolent cavalier was no less a man than the gallant Don Pedro de Alvarado, at this time called, almost universally, in memory of his famous leap over the ditch of Tacuba, in the Night of Sorrow, the _Capitan del Salto_. He gave place to another of still greater renown, who would have been perhaps the first to extend his hand, had he been as hasty of resolution as his more mercurial comrade. This was the good cavalier Don Gonzalo de Sandoval, better esteemed for his skill in arms than any peculiar elegance of conversation. "Juan Lerma," said he, "I am not sorry thou art alive and well; and if thou wilt make any use of the same, to put thee into more Christian bravery, I will pray thee to take my gold chain, as well as six good cotton shirts, which an Indian woman made me." To these friendly salutations and bountiful offers, as well as the advances of other cavaliers who now bustled around him, Juan replied with a manner more expressive of indignation than gratitude. He was ashamed of having exposed his weakness, and sensible that it was this alone which had obtained him a charitable notice. He raised his head proudly, as one who would not accept such compelled kindness, pushed Befo to the floor, though still keeping a hand upon his neck, acknowledged the presence of Xicotencal with a word, and turned towards Cortes a countenance now quite composed, though not without a touch of sorrowful resentment. The emotion which had produced such an impression among the cavaliers, was not without its effect even upon the Captain-General. His features relaxed their angry severity, he stepped forwards; and when Juan lifted up his eyes, he beheld a hand extended towards him, and heard the voice of Cortes say, in tones of concession, though of embarrassment, "God be with you--you do us wrong in this matter: as a Christian man escaped from bondage, we are not unrejoiced to see you: as a soldier returning from a delayed duty, we will declare our thoughts of you anon."