As soon as Don Quixote recognized his squire, he quickly took him inside, being afraid that he would tell the women all the little details of the knight's adventures, such as the galley-slave episode and others not tending to reflect honor on his shield. Whereupon the barber and the curate left, both of them in despair of their friend's ever being cured. The curate remarked that it would not surprise him to learn before many moons that Don Quixote and Sancho had set off again on another sally. They were curious to know what the master and the servant might be discussing at that very moment. However, the curate was of the firm belief that they could rely upon the two women to keep their ears to the door. They would learn from them what had been the topic, and what had been said.
When Don Quixote was alone with his squire, he expressed dismay over his having told the housekeeper the knight had taken him from house and home, when he knew perfectly well that he had gone of his own free will. They had shared everything, he said; everything except blows, where he had had a distinct advantage over his squire, having taken ninety-nine out of a hundred beatings. This dividing of fortune, Sancho thought, was quite as it should be, for of course knights errant ought to share the greater benefits of the battle. Here Don Quixote interrupted with a Latin quotation, which had an evil effect on Sancho, for it made him retaliate with the blanket episode which to him still seemed the height of all his suffering in the world. But this attempt to belittle the fairness of his master's division of honors in battle was speedily parried by Don Quixote, who maintained that his squire's bodily suffering in the blanket was as nothing compared with the painful agony of his own heart and soul when he had seen his squire in such a predicament. And then he proceeded to question Sancho as to public opinion of his deeds and valor.
Sancho was inclined to be reticent; but urged by Don Quixote—and having been forgiven in advance for any vexation he might cause him by telling the truth—he told of the variety of opinions that existed in the village. This his master thought only natural; for when had the world ever given full recognition to a genius or a great hero until after he was dead? He pointed to all the great names he could recollect in history that had been persecuted.
But Sancho had not come to the worst; and at last he found sufficient courage to tell his master of a book entitled "The Ingenious Gentleman, Don Quixote of La Mancha," which had already, he said, been spread abroad. In this book not only Don Quixote, but he himself—under his own name!—and the Lady Dulcinea del Toboso figured; and he was so stupefied that he had to cross himself, for he could not imagine how everything that had been told in the book—the most intimate happenings between Don Quixote and himself—had come to be known to the author. Don Quixote thought it was very plain that the adventures must have been reported by some sage and enchanter; but Sancho told him that the author was one Cid Hamet Berengena (meaning eggplant). It was no other than the son of Bartholomew Carrasco, who had been a student at Salamanca, who had told him all this, he said. He asked his master whether he should like to see the young bachelor, and Don Quixote begged him to run and fetch him at once, for, he said, he would be unable to digest a thing until he had had a talk with him.
"Cid Hamet Berengena," repeated Don Quixote to himself. "That is a Moorish name."
"Yes, I have heard the Moors like eggplant," added Sancho.
And then his lord and master asked: "Didst thou not mistake the surname of this 'Cid,' which means in Arabic 'lord,' Sancho?"
"Perhaps," said Sancho; "but the bachelor can tell you that."
And he ran to fetch him.