strict account to
heaven of that indolence and seclusion; and so one day he asked the duke
and duchess to grant him permission to take his departure. They gave it,
showing at the same time that they were very sorry he was leaving them.

The duchess gave his wife's letters to Sancho Panza, who shed tears over
them, saying, "Who would have thought that such grand hopes as the news
of my government bred in my wife Teresa Panza's breast would end in my
going back now to the vagabond adventures of my master Don Quixote of La
Mancha? Still I'm glad to see my Teresa behaved as she ought in sending
the acorns, for if she had not sent them I'd have been sorry, and she'd
have shown herself ungrateful. It is a comfort to me that they can't call
that present a bribe; for I had got the government already when she sent
them, and it's but reasonable that those who have had a good turn done
them should show their gratitude, if it's only with a trifle. After all I
went into the government naked, and I come out of it naked; so I can say
with a safe conscience--and that's no small matter--'naked I was born,
naked I find myself, I neither lose nor gain.'"

Thus did Sancho soliloquise on the day of their departure, as Don
Quixote, who had the night before taken leave of the duke and duchess,
coming out made his appearance at an early hour in full armour in the
courtyard of the castle. The whole household of the castle were watching
him from the corridors, and the duke and duchess, too, came out to see
him. Sancho was mounted on his Dapple, with his alforjas, valise, and
proven, supremely happy because the duke's majordomo, the same that had
acted the part of the Trifaldi, had given him a little purse with two
hundred gold crowns to meet the necessary expenses of the road, but of
this Don Quixote knew nothing as yet. While all were, as has been said,
observing him, suddenly from among the duennas and handmaidens the
impudent and witty Altisidora lifted up her voice and said in pathetic
tones:

Give ear, cruel knight;
Draw rein; where's the need
Of spurring the flanks
Of that ill-broken steed?
From what art thou flying?
No dragon I am,
Not even a sheep,
But a tender young lamb.
Thou hast jilted a maiden
As fair to behold
As nymph of Diana
Or Venus of old.

Bireno, AEneas, what worse shall I call thee?

Barabbas go with thee! All evil befall thee!

In thy claws, ruthless robber,
Thou bearest away
The heart of a me