bout on the floor; I mean the comb that I used to
stick in my good tail."

But for all she tugged at it the barber would not give it up until the
licentiate told him to let her have it, as there was now no further
occasion for that stratagem, because he might declare himself and appear
in his own character, and tell Don Quixote that he had fled to this inn
when those thieves the galley slaves robbed him; and should he ask for
the princess's squire, they could tell him that she had sent him on
before her to give notice to the people of her kingdom that she was
coming, and bringing with her the deliverer of them all. On this the
barber cheerfully restored the tail to the landlady, and at the same time
they returned all the accessories they had borrowed to effect Don
Quixote's deliverance. All the people of the inn were struck with
astonishment at the beauty of Dorothea, and even at the comely figure of
the shepherd Cardenio. The curate made them get ready such fare as there
was in the inn, and the landlord, in hope of better payment, served them
up a tolerably good dinner. All this time Don Quixote was asleep, and
they thought it best not to waken him, as sleeping would now do him more
good than eating.

While at dinner, the company consisting of the landlord, his wife, their
daughter, Maritornes, and all the travellers, they discussed the strange
craze of Don Quixote and the manner in which he had been found; and the
landlady told them what had taken place between him and the carrier; and
then, looking round to see if Sancho was there, when she saw he was not,
she gave them the whole story of his blanketing, which they received with
no little amusement. But on the curate observing that it was the books of
chivalry which Don Quixote had read that had turned his brain, the
landlord said:

"I cannot understand how that can be, for in truth to my mind there is no
better reading in the world, and I have here two or three of them, with
other writings that are the very life, not only of myself but of plenty
more; for when it is harvest-time, the reapers flock here on holidays,
and there is always one among them who can read and who takes up one of
these books, and we gather round him, thirty or more of us, and stay
listening to him with a delight that makes our grey hairs grow young
again. At least I can say for myself that when I hear of what furious and
terrible blows the knights deliver, I am seized with the longing to do