While at dinner, the company consisting of the landlord, his wife, their

daughter, Maritornes, and all the travellers, they discussed the strange

craze of Don Quixote and the manner in which he had been found; and the

landlady told them what had taken place between him and the carrier; and

then, looking round to see if Sancho was there, when she saw he was not,

she gave them the whole story of his blanketing, which they received with

no little amusement. But on the curate observing that it was the books of

chivalry which Don Quixote had read that had turned his brain, the

landlord said:

"I cannot understand how that can be, for in truth to my mind there is no

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better reading in the world, and I have here two or three of them, with

other writings that are the very life, not only of myself but of plenty

more; for when it is harvest-time, the reapers flock here on holidays,

and there is always one among them who can read and who takes up one of

these books, and we gather round him, thirty or more of us, and stay

listening to him with a delight that makes our grey hairs grow young

again. At least I can say for myself that when I hear of what furious and

terrible blows the knights deliver, I am seized with the longing to do

the same, and I would like to be hearing about them night and day."

"And I just as much," said the landlady, "because I never have a quiet

moment in my house except when you are listening to some one reading; for

then you are so taken up that for the time being you forget to scold."

"That is true," said Maritornes; "and, faith, I relish hearing these

things greatly too, for they are very pretty; especially when they

describe some lady or another in the arms of her knight under the orange

trees, and the duenna who is keeping watch for them half dead with envy

and fright; all this I say is as good as honey."

"And you, what do you think, young lady?" said the curate turning to the

landlord's daughter.

"I don't know indeed, senor," said she; "I listen too, and to tell the

truth, though I do not understand it, I like hearing it; but it is not

the blows that my father likes that I like, but the laments the knights

utter when they are separated from their ladies; and indeed they

sometimes make me weep with the pity I feel for them."

"Then you would console them if it was for you they wept, young lady?"

said Dorothea.




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