istening, and seeing the curate disguised by a mask, the
suspicion crept into his head that he was trying to play a joke on his
master. So he burst into the conversation with a grudge against them
all.

"Well, sirs, you may like it or not," he declared, "but my master is
as much enchanted as my mother! He is in his full senses; he can eat,
and sleep, and drink. Then why do they want me to believe that he is
enchanted? I have heard it said that when you are enchanted you cannot
do any of these things, nor talk. And my master will talk more than
thirty lawyers would if you do not stop him." Then turning to the
curate, he exclaimed: "And, senor curate, senor curate! Do you think I
do not know you? Well, I can tell you I do, for all your face is
covered; and I can tell you I am up to you, however you may hide your
tricks. If it had not been for your Worship, my master would be
married to the Princess Micomicona this minute, and I should be a
Count at least--for no less was to be expected."

And then the faithful Sancho went on to say that he had told all this
that the curate might weigh in his conscience the pranks he had played
on Don Quixote, and for which he would have to pay in heaven (if he
ever should come there) unless he did penance now. Here the barber
thought it best to put an end to Sancho's communications, and offered
him a place in the cage beside his master, but Sancho was quick to
retort: "Mind how you talk, master barber, for shaving is not
everything; and as to the enchantment of my master, God knows the
truth!"

Soon after Sancho had commenced his tirade, the curate thought it
best, having listened to his own denunciation, to explain everything
concerning the knight errant and his squire to the canon. Therefore he
asked him to ride on ahead with him. When the canon had heard the
whole story, he remarked that he thought that books of chivalry were
really harmful, for not one of them was truthful. He was amused when
the curate related how he and the barber had burned nearly all of Don
Quixote's treasures in literature of this sort.

"But what mind," asked the canon, "that is not wholly barbarous and
uncultured can find pleasure in reading of how a great tower full of
knights sails away across the sea like a ship with a fair wind, and
will be to-night in Lombardy and to-morrow morning in the land of
Prester John of the Indies?"

CHAPTER XLVIII

IN WHICH THE CANON PURSUES THE SUBJECT OF THE BOOKS