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“No, certainly not,” responded Don Quixote. “At least, in the three days I have been with them not one of them closed an eye, and neither did I.”

“Here,” said Sancho, “the proverb fits: birds of a feather flock together; your grace flocks with enchanted people who fast and stay awake, so it’s no surprise you don’t sleep while you’re with them. But, Señor, your grace will forgive me if I tell you that may God take me, and I was going to say the devil, if I believe a single one of all the things you’ve said here.”

“What do you mean?” said the cousin. “Would Señor Don Quixote lie? And even if he wanted to, he hasn’t had time to invent and imagine so many millions of lies.”

“I don’t believe my master is lying,” responded Sancho.

“If you do not, then what do you believe?” asked Don Quixote.

“I believe,” responded Sancho, “that Merlin, or those enchanters who enchanted that whole crowd your grace says you saw and talked to down there, put into your mind or memory the whole story that you’ve told us, and the rest that you still have to tell.”

“That could be true, Sancho,” replied Don Quixote, “but it is not, because what I have recounted I saw with my own eyes and touched with my own hands. But what will you say when I tell you now that among the infinite things and wonders that Montesinos showed to me, which I shall tell you in the course of our journey, slowly and at the proper time so that they are not all recounted here, Montesinos showed me three peasant girls who were leaping and jumping in those pleasant fields like nanny goats, and as soon as I saw them I recognized one of them as the peerless Dulcinea of Toboso, and the other two as those same peasant girls who came with her, the ones we spoke to as we were leaving Toboso. I asked Montesinos if he knew them; he responded that he did not, but he imagined that they must be distinguished ladies who had been enchanted, for they had appeared in those meadows only a few days before, and this should not surprise me because many other ladies from past and present times were there who had been transformed into many strange figures, among whom he recognized Queen Guinevere and her lady-in-waiting, Quintañona, pouring wine for Lancelot,

When he from Brittany came.”8

When Sancho Panza heard his master say this, he thought he would lose his mind or die laughing; since he knew the truth about the feigned enchantment of Dulcinea, for he had been the enchanter and had invented the story, he recognized beyond the shadow of a doubt that his master was out of his mind and completely mad, and so he said:

“It was an evil moment and a worse time and an ill-fated day when your grace went down to the next world, my dear master, and an unlucky meeting that you had with Señor Montesinos, for see how you’ve come back to us. Your grace was better off up here when you had all your wits, just as God had given them to you, always saying wise things and giving advice, not like now, when you’re saying the most foolish things that anybody could imagine.”

“Since I know you, Sancho,” responded Don Quixote, “I shall ignore your words.”

“And I won’t pay attention to your grace’s,” replied Sancho, “not even if you wound me, not even if you kill me on account of the ones I’ve said to you, or the ones I plan to say if you don’t change and correct yours. But tell me, your grace, now that we’re at peace: how, and by what signs, did you recognize our lady mistress? If you spoke to her, what did you say, and what did she reply?”

“I knew her,” responded Don Quixote, “because she was wearing the same clothing she wore when you showed her to me. I spoke to her, but she did not say a word to me; instead, she turned her back and ran away so quickly that a spear could not have overtaken her. I wanted to follow, and would have done so if Montesinos had not advised me not to bother for it would be in vain, especially since the hour was approaching when I ought to leave the abyss. He also told me that over the course of time he would inform me how