seat opposite to him, and the duke and duchess
those at the sides. All this time Sancho stood by, gaping with amazement
at the honour he saw shown to his master by these illustrious persons;
and observing all the ceremonious pressing that had passed between the
duke and Don Quixote to induce him to take his seat at the head of the
table, he said, "If your worship will give me leave I will tell you a
story of what happened in my village about this matter of seats."

The moment Sancho said this Don Quixote trembled, making sure that he was
about to say something foolish. Sancho glanced at him, and guessing his
thoughts, said, "Don't be afraid of my going astray, senor, or saying
anything that won't be pat to the purpose; I haven't forgotten the advice
your worship gave me just now about talking much or little, well or ill."

"I have no recollection of anything, Sancho," said Don Quixote; "say what
thou wilt, only say it quickly."

"Well then," said Sancho, "what I am going to say is so true that my
master Don Quixote, who is here present, will keep me from lying."

"Lie as much as thou wilt for all I care, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "for
I am not going to stop thee, but consider what thou art going to say."

"I have so considered and reconsidered," said Sancho, "that the
bell-ringer's in a safe berth; as will be seen by what follows."

"It would be well," said Don Quixote, "if your highnesses would order
them to turn out this idiot, for he will talk a heap of nonsense."

"By the life of the duke, Sancho shall not be taken away from me for a
moment," said the duchess; "I am very fond of him, for I know he is very
discreet."

"Discreet be the days of your holiness," said Sancho, "for the good
opinion you have of my wit, though there's none in me; but the story I
want to tell is this. There was an invitation given by a gentleman of my
town, a very rich one, and one of quality, for he was one of the Alamos
of Medina del Campo, and married to Dona Mencia de Quinones, the daughter
of Don Alonso de Maranon, Knight of the Order of Santiago, that was
drowned at the Herradura--him there was that quarrel about years ago in
our village, that my master Don Quixote was mixed up in, to the best of
my belief, that Tomasillo the scapegrace, the son of Balbastro the smith,
was wounded in.--Isn't all this true, master mine? As you live, say so,
that these gentlefolk may not take me for some lying chatterer."

"So far," said the eccl