Montézuma had the most wonderfully flexible face I ever saw. He could literally do anything he liked with it. For instance, he would lengthen his features, raise his eyebrows, and half shut his eyes, and there you had before you the living image of Lieutenant Hardel, the thinnest and most miserable looking officer of the regiment. Then, in an instant, he would puff out his cheeks, half bury his head between his shoulders, and opening his big eyes, roll them about in a terrible manner, and at that moment you beheld an exact copy of Major Taillepain. When he began these representations, which were performed for me, and me only, I could scarcely contain myself for joy. At each change of countenance, I would clap my hands and cry out, “Again, again, Montézuma! Again, please, again!”

He, too, would get quite excited over his own performances, and after having imitated the faces of all those he chose to mimic, he would begin making grimaces of so terrible and strange a nature, that I would be seized with horror. It seemed to me as if it could not be Montézuma standing before me: that fantastic and hideous face that I beheld—now furious, now jeering, and now surely the face of some strange animal—could no longer be his; and, almost beside myself with fear, I trembled all over. Then I used to have a sort of hysterical fit, crying and laughing at once, and I would implore of Montézuma not to do it any more. And he would then have his own natural face again in a moment, and taking me up, kiss me heartily.

In time, these performances which fright............