[Illustration: THE ENCHANTMENT OF DON QUIXOTE]
It so happened that there was not any window in all the Inn which looked out into the fields, but only a hole in the barn, out of which they were used to throw the straw. To this hole came the two damsels, and saw Don Quixote mounted and leaning on his lance, breathing forth ever and anon such doleful and deep sighs, that it seemed as if each one of them would tear his very soul. They noted besides how he said in a soft and amorous voice: 'O my Lady Dulcinea of Toboso, the perfection of all beauty, the sum-total of discretion, the treasury of grace, the storehouse of virtue, the ideal of all that is worthy, modest, or delightful in all the world! What might thy Ladyship be doing at this present? Art thou perhaps thinking of thy captive Knight who most readily exposeth himself to so many dangers for thy sake? Give me tidings of her, O thou Moon! Mayhap thou dost now look down upon her pacing some gallery of her sumptuous palace, or leaning against some balcony thinking what glory she shall give me for my pains, what quiet to my cares, what life to my death, and what reward for my services. And thou, O Sun, who art even now busy saddling thy horses to set off betimes and go forth and see my Lady, I beseech thee when thou seest her to salute her on my behalf, but take care that thou dost not kiss her on her face lest thou provokest my jealousy.'
So far the Knight had proceeded when the Innkeeper's daughter began to call him softly to her, saying: 'Sir Knight, approach a little way, if you please.'
At this signal Don Quixote turned his head and saw by the light of the moon, which shined then very clearly, that they beckoned him from the hole in the barn, which he imagined to be a fair window full of iron bars gilded in costly fashion with gold, fit for so rich a Castle as he imagined that Inn to be. In a moment he believed, in his strange fancy, that the beautiful damsel, daughter to the Lord of the Castle, conquered by love of him, was come to have speech with him.
In this fancy, and because he would not show himself discourteous and ungrateful, he turned Rozinante about and came over to the hole, and then, having beheld the two damsels, he said: 'I take pity on you, beautiful Lady, that you have fixed your love where it is not possible to find another's in return. Nor must you blame this miserable Knight Errant, whom love hath wholly disabled from paying his addresses to any other than to her who at first sight became the Lady of his choice. Pardon me, therefore, good Lady, and retire yourself to your room, and be pleased to say no more to me, that I may not appear ungrateful to you. And if, of the love you bear me, you can find me any other way wherein I may serve you, demand it boldly, for I swear to pleasure you in this, even though my task be to bring you a lock of Medusa's hairs, which are all of snakes, or to capture the beams of the sun in a phial of glass.'