e will be nothing lost by trying it; consider how
much thou wouldst have, Sancho, and whip thyself at once, and pay thyself
down with thine own hand, as thou hast money of mine."

At this proposal Sancho opened his eyes and his ears a palm's breadth
wide, and in his heart very readily acquiesced in whipping himself, and
said he to his master, "Very well then, senor, I'll hold myself in
readiness to gratify your worship's wishes if I'm to profit by it; for
the love of my wife and children forces me to seem grasping. Let your
worship say how much you will pay me for each lash I give myself."

"If Sancho," replied Don Quixote, "I were to requite thee as the
importance and nature of the cure deserves, the treasures of Venice, the
mines of Potosi, would be insufficient to pay thee. See what thou hast of
mine, and put a price on each lash."

"Of them," said Sancho, "there are three thousand three hundred and odd;
of these I have given myself five, the rest remain; let the five go for
the odd ones, and let us take the three thousand three hundred, which at
a quarter real apiece (for I will not take less though the whole world
should bid me) make three thousand three hundred quarter reals; the three
thousand are one thousand five hundred half reals, which make seven
hundred and fifty reals; and the three hundred make a hundred and fifty
half reals, which come to seventy-five reals, which added to the seven
hundred and fifty make eight hundred and twenty-five reals in all. These
I will stop out of what I have belonging to your worship, and I'll return
home rich and content, though well whipped, for 'there's no taking
trout'--but I say no more."

"O blessed Sancho! O dear Sancho!" said Don Quixote; "how we shall be
bound to serve thee, Dulcinea and I, all the days of our lives that
heaven may grant us! If she returns to her lost shape (and it cannot be
but that she will) her misfortune will have been good fortune, and my
defeat a most happy triumph. But look here, Sancho; when wilt thou begin
the scourging? For if thou wilt make short work of it, I will give thee a
hundred reals over and above."

"When?" said Sancho; "this night without fail. Let your worship order it
so that we pass it out of doors and in the open air, and I'll scarify
myself."

Night, longed for by Don Quixote with the greatest anxiety in the world,
came at last, though it seemed to him that the wheels of Apollo's car had
broken down, and that the day was