While that was being agreed upon, two travelers, a man and a woman, dressed in Moorish fashion, came to the inn. They asked for rooms overnight, but were told there were none to be had. Dorothea felt sorry for the strange lady—whose face was covered with a veil—and told her that she and Luscinda would gladly share their room with her. The lady rose from her chair, bowed her head and made a sign with her hands as if to thank them; and they concluded, because of her silence, that she could not speak their language. At this moment her companion returned to her and, seeing her surrounded by the guests at the inn, he confirmed what they had thought, for he made the remark that it was useless to address any questions to her as she could speak no other tongue than her own. They explained that they had asked no questions, but had only offered her quarters for the night. When the stranger learned this, it seemed to please him very much, and he thanked them profusely.
As they were all curious to know who the lady was, they asked the stranger whether or not she was a Christian. He replied that while she was not, she wished to become one; and he informed them that she was a lady of high rank from Algiers. This excited a desire to see her face as well as to know whom she might be, and Dorothea could not resist the temptation of asking her to remove her veil. When her companion had told her Dorothea's desire, and the Moorish lady had removed her veil, they all stood in awe, for they beheld a face that seemed to them lovelier than any they had ever beheld before. Don Fernando asked her name, and the stranger replied it was Lela Zoraida; but when the fair lady heard him speak this name, she exclaimed emphatically that she was called Maria and not Zoraida. Luscinda embraced her in a loving way and said they would call her by that name.
The supper was now ready and all placed themselves at a long table, at the head of which Don Quixote was asked to seat himself. At his request Dorothea—as the Princess Micomicona in disguise—sat on his right. All were merry and content and many pleasantries were passed. But suddenly Don Quixote stopped eating, rose, and with inspiration in his eyes and voice, began a long discourse on knight-errantry, reviewing the great good it had done for mankind. The language he used was so perfect, his manners so free and easy, and his delivery possessed of such charm, that his listeners could hardly make themselves believe they were in the presence of one who was demented.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
Which Treats of the Curious Discourse Don Quixote Delivered on Arms and Letters
DON QUIXOTE told them in his discourse of that age in which victory in battle depended on personal courage and good swordsmanship, before the use of such devilish contrivances as lead and powder. These things almost made him despair of success for his revival of chivalry in this age, he said; for while guns and artillery could instill no fear in his breast, they did make him feel uneasy, as one never knew when a bullet, intended for some one else, might cut off one's life. The very worst of such a death, he maintained, was that the bullet might have been discharged by a fleeing coward. And so he pledged himself again, in spite of all the things he had to struggle against, not to give up what he had undertaken to do: to set the world aright in accordance with the principles of knight-errantry.
All the while that Don Quixote was discoursing, Sancho was much concerned because he neglected his food. He broke in whenever he had an opportunity, and admonished his master that he would have much time for talking after he had eaten.
When they had finished their supper, the landlord informed them that he had re-arranged their quarters in order to accommodate all, and that the three women might sleep in the garret, as Don Quixote gallantly had given up his quarters to them. Their interest then turned again to the stranger. Don Fernando asked him some questions about his life, and he replied that while his life-story would be interesting, it might not afford them much enjoyment. However, he said, he would tell it if they so wished. The curate begged that he do so; and, seeing the interest of all, the stranger mentioned by way of introduction that while his was a true story, many a story of fiction would seem tame and less strange in comparison. And while all of the company expectantly turned their eyes toward the strange traveler in Moorish garb, he began the following tale.