The singer finished his song, and the Barber and Curate, in wonder and delight, listened for more. But as silence continued, they agreed to go in search of this strange musician. As they were moving away he again burst into song, and at the end of this, uttered a deep sigh, and the music was changed into sobs and heart-rending moans.
They had not gone far in their search when, in turning the corner of a rock, they saw a man of the same figure that Sancho had described to them when he had told them the story of Cardenio. The Curate at once went up to him, and in a kindly manner begged him to quit this wretched, wandering life, lest he should perish among the mountains.
Cardenio, who was in his right mind at this time, and quite free from his mad fit, replied: 'Whoever you may be, good Sirs, I see clearly that, unworthy as I am, there are yet human beings who would show me kindness by persuading me to live in some better place; and I know myself how this terrible madness masters me, and many blame my outrageous conduct rather than pity my misfortunes. But if you will listen to my story, you will know why I have been driven here, what has made me mad, and will understand how far I ought to be blamed, and how much I may be pitied.'
The Curate and the Barber, who wanted nothing better than to learn the cause of his woe from his own lips, asked him to tell his story, and promised they would do all they could for his consolation.
Upon this Cardenio began his story, and told them all that he had told Don Quixote, until he came to the book that Lucinda had borrowed about Amadis of Gaul. There was no interruption from Don Quixote on this occasion, so Cardenio went on to tell them how, when Lucinda returned the book he found in it a letter full of the most tender wishes beautifully expressed.
'It was this letter,' continued Cardenio, 'that moved me to again ask Lucinda for wife; it was this letter also which made Don Fernando determine to ruin me before my happiness could be complete. I told Don Fernando how matters stood with me, and how her father expected mine to ask for Lucinda, and how I dared not speak to my father about it for fear he should refuse his consent; not because he was ignorant of the beauty and worth of Lucinda, but because he did not wish me to marry so soon, or at least not until he had seen what the Duke Ricardo would do for me. I told Don Fernando that I could not venture to speak to my father about it, and he offered to speak on my behalf, and persuade my father to ask for Lucinda's hand.