beautiful, delightful meadow that nature
could produce or the most lively human imagination conceive. I opened my
eyes, I rubbed them, and found I was not asleep but thoroughly awake.
Nevertheless, I felt my head and breast to satisfy myself whether it was
I myself who was there or some empty delusive phantom; but touch,
feeling, the collected thoughts that passed through my mind, all
convinced me that I was the same then and there that I am this moment.
Next there presented itself to my sight a stately royal palace or castle,
with walls that seemed built of clear transparent crystal; and through
two great doors that opened wide therein, I saw coming forth and
advancing towards me a venerable old man, clad in a long gown of
mulberry-coloured serge that trailed upon the ground. On his shoulders
and breast he had a green satin collegiate hood, and covering his head a
black Milanese bonnet, and his snow-white beard fell below his girdle. He
carried no arms whatever, nothing but a rosary of beads bigger than
fair-sized filberts, each tenth bead being like a moderate ostrich egg;
his bearing, his gait, his dignity and imposing presence held me
spellbound and wondering. He approached me, and the first thing he did
was to embrace me closely, and then he said to me, 'For a long time now,
O valiant knight Don Quixote of La Mancha, we who are here enchanted in
these solitudes have been hoping to see thee, that thou mayest make known
to the world what is shut up and concealed in this deep cave, called the
cave of Montesinos, which thou hast entered, an achievement reserved for
thy invincible heart and stupendous courage alone to attempt. Come with
me, illustrious sir, and I will show thee the marvels hidden within this
transparent castle, whereof I am the alcaide and perpetual warden; for I
am Montesinos himself, from whom the cave takes its name.'

"The instant he told me he was Montesinos, I asked him if the story they
told in the world above here was true, that he had taken out the heart of
his great friend Durandarte from his breast with a little dagger, and
carried it to the lady Belerma, as his friend when at the point of death
had commanded him. He said in reply that they spoke the truth in every
respect except as to the dagger, for it was not a dagger, nor little, but
a burnished poniard sharper than an awl."

"That poniard must have been made by Ramon de Hoces the Sevillian," said
Sancho.

"I do not know," said Don Quix