ave this fool alone, for he
will grind your souls between, not to say two, but two thousand proverbs,
dragged in as much in season, and as much to the purpose as--may God
grant as much health to him, or to me if I want to listen to them!"

"Sancho Panza's proverbs," said the duchess, "though more in number than
the Greek Commander's, are not therefore less to be esteemed for the
conciseness of the maxims. For my own part, I can say they give me more
pleasure than others that may be better brought in and more seasonably
introduced."

In pleasant conversation of this sort they passed out of the tent into
the wood, and the day was spent in visiting some of the posts and
hiding-places, and then night closed in, not, however, as brilliantly or
tranquilly as might have been expected at the season, for it was then
midsummer; but bringing with it a kind of haze that greatly aided the
project of the duke and duchess; and thus, as night began to fall, and a
little after twilight set in, suddenly the whole wood on all four sides
seemed to be on fire, and shortly after, here, there, on all sides, a
vast number of trumpets and other military instruments were heard, as if
several troops of cavalry were passing through the wood. The blaze of the
fire and the noise of the warlike instruments almost blinded the eyes and
deafened the ears of those that stood by, and indeed of all who were in
the wood. Then there were heard repeated lelilies after the fashion of
the Moors when they rush to battle; trumpets and clarions brayed, drums
beat, fifes played, so unceasingly and so fast that he could not have had
any senses who did not lose them with the confused din of so many
instruments. The duke was astounded, the duchess amazed, Don Quixote
wondering, Sancho Panza trembling, and indeed, even they who were aware
of the cause were frightened. In their fear, silence fell upon them, and
a postillion, in the guise of a demon, passed in front of them, blowing,
in lieu of a bugle, a huge hollow horn that gave out a horrible hoarse
note.

"Ho there! brother courier," cried the duke, "who are you? Where are you
going? What troops are these that seem to be passing through the wood?"

To which the courier replied in a harsh, discordant voice, "I am the
devil; I am in search of Don Quixote of La Mancha; those who are coming
this way are six troops of enchanters, who are bringing on a triumphal
car the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso; she comes under enc