'I should believe it all,' replied Sancho, 'if my tossing in the blanket had been a thing of that sort. Only it was not so, but very real and certain. And I saw the Innkeeper, who is here to this day, hold one end of the blanket and toss me up to the sky with very good grace and strength, and as much mirth as muscle. And where it comes to knowing persons, I hold, though I may be a simpleton and a sinner, that there is no enchantment, but only bruising and bad luck.'
'Well,' cried Don Quixote, 'time will show; but give me my clothes, for I would see these wonders that thou speakest of for myself.'
Sancho gave him his clothes, and, whilst he was making him ready, the Curate told Don Fernando and the rest, of Don Quixote's mad pranks, and the plan he had used to get him away from the Brown Mountains, where he imagined he was exiled through the disdain of his Lady.
The Curate told them further, that since the good fortune of the Lady Dorothea prevented them carrying out their scheme, they must invent some other way of taking him home to his village.
Cardenio offered to continue the adventure, and let Lucinda take Dorothea's part.
'No,' cried Don Fernando. 'It shall not be so, for I will have Dorothea herself carry out her plan, and if the good Knight's home is not far from here, I shall be very glad to help in his cure.'
'It is not more than two days' journey,' said the Curate.
'Even if it were more,' replied Don Fernando, 'I should be happy to make the journey in so good a cause.'
At this moment Don Quixote sallied out, completely armed with Mambrino's helmet, which had a great hole in it, on his head, his shield on his arm, and leaning on his lance. His grotesque appearance amazed Don Fernando and his companions very much, who wondered at his gaunt face so withered and yellow, the strangeness of his arms, and his grave manner of proceeding.
All stood silent to see what he would do, whilst the Knight, casting his eyes on the beautiful Dorothea, with great gravity and calmness spoke as follows: 'I am informed, beautiful Lady, by this my Squire, that your greatness has come to an end, and your condition is destroyed. For, instead of being a Queen and a mighty Princess, you are now become a private damsel. If this has been done by the special order of that sage magician, the King your Father, because he dreaded that I could not give you all necessary help, I say that he does not know half his art, and has never understood the histories of knightly adventures. For if he had read them with the attention that I have, he would have found how many Knights of less fame than myself have ended far more desperate adventures than this, for it is no great matter to kill a Giant, be he ever so proud. For in truth it is not so many hours since I myself fought with one; but I will be silent, lest they tell me I lie. Time, the detecter of all things, will disclose it when we least expect.'