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time; the next day he learned that Luscinda had fled her parents’ house, and no one could say where she had gone; after a few months he discovered that she was in a convent, where she desired to remain for the rest of her life if she could not spend it with Cardenio; as soon as he learned this, he chose these three gentlemen to accompany him, and he went to the convent but did not attempt to speak to her, fearful that as soon as it was known that he was there, the convent would be made even more secure. And so he waited for a day when the porter’s lodge would be open and left two of his companions to guard the door while he, with the third, entered the convent, looking for Luscinda, whom they found in the cloister talking to a nun; they seized her, not giving her a chance to resist, and brought her to a place where they had prepared everything they would need to abduct her. They had been able to do all of this with impunity because the convent was in the countryside, a good distance from town. He said that as soon as Luscinda found herself in his power, she had fallen into a deep swoon, and when she regained consciousness she had done nothing but weep and sigh and had not spoken a single word; and so, accompanied by silence and tears, they had come to the inn, which for him had been the same as coming to heaven, where all the misfortunes on earth reach their conclusion and end.

CHAPTER XXXVII

In which the history of the famous Princess Micomicona continues, along with other diverting adventures

Sancho listened to all of this with a very sorrowful spirit, for he saw that his hopes for a noble title were disappearing and going up in smoke, and that the lovely Princess Micomicona had turned into Dorotea, and the giant into Don Fernando, and that his master was in a deep, sound sleep, unaware of everything that had happened. Dorotea could not be certain she had not dreamed her great joy, Cardenio was in the same frame of mind, and Luscinda had the same thought. Don Fernando thanked heaven for its mercy in extricating him from the intricate labyrinth in which he had been on the verge of losing both his good name and his soul; in short, all the people in the inn were pleased, rejoicing at the happy outcome of such complex and desperate affairs.

The priest, a judicious man, put the final touch on everything by congratulating them all on the happiness each had achieved; but the one who was happiest and most joyful was the innkeeper’s wife, because Cardenio and the priest had promised to pay her for all the damage and all the costs she had incurred on Don Quixote’s account. Only Sancho, as we have said, was sorrowful, dejected, and sad, and so, with a melancholy expression, he went in to see his master, who had just awakened, and said:

“Your grace, Señor Sorrowful Face, can sleep all you want to now and not worry about killing any giant or returning the princess to her kingdom; it’s all over and done with.”

“I certainly believe that,” responded Don Quixote, “because with that giant I have had the most uncommon and furious battle I think I shall ever have in all my days, and with a single downstroke—smash!—I knocked his head to the ground, and so much blood poured out of him that it ran in streams along the floor as if it were water.”

“As if it were red wine, is what your grace should say,” responded Sancho, “because I want your grace to know, in case you don’t already, that the dead giant is a slashed wineskin, his blood, the six arrobas1 of red wine contained in its belly, and the head you cut off is the whore who bore me, damn it all to hell!”

“Madman, what are you saying?” replied Don Quixote. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Get up, your grace,” said Sancho, “and you’ll see what you’ve won and what we have to pay, and you’ll see the queen transformed into an ordinary lady named Dorotea, and other changes that will amaze you, if you can see them for what they are.”

“I shall not marvel at any of it,” replied Don Quixote, “because, if you remember, the last time we were here I told you that all the things that occurred