The Widow answered:
"There's no one who doesn't know how you hurt your leg, but because of their situation they don't want to offend you or make you angry, and because of the war they hide their feelings and pretend not to know anything. If they were certain there would be peace, Carmesina would be the first to throw you into everlasting and bitter grief. Are you so blind that you can't see the dishonest things that are plotted and carried out in this palace? It all seems so vile and abominable to me that I won't agree to any of it. That's why they don't like me. I know for a fact that you're not highly regarded the way you should be. Tell me, wouldn't it be better for you to love a woman who was expert in the art of loving, and very honest, even if she weren't a virgin? She would follow you across the sea and over land, in war and in peace. She would serve you in your tents both night and day, and would never think of anything but how to please you."
"Tell me, my lady," said Tirant, "who is the woman who would perform such remarkable services for me?"
"Oh, wretched me!" said the Widow. "Why are you trying to make me suffer more than I already do? Haven't I said enough? Don't pretend that you don't understand what's so clear. I've tried to find a time when we wouldn't be interrupted by anyone to reveal my pain to you. It seems to me that I've made my intention known to you very clearly, and the knight who is so graciously offered such a gift can feel very fortunate."
Tirant did not hesitate to reply:
"To satisfy you, I'll answer your kind words. It makes me angry that I can't do what you are asking because your words are filled with so much love. But my free will is captive, and even if I wanted to, my five senses would not allow it."
"Everything I've told you was only to test your patience, and to show you, Lord Tirant, how much I want to serve you. I think you should be aware of all the things you don't know. I don't want you to be deceived by the princess's actions: she no longer has any honor, and she has none of her father's or her mother's honor either. She could have satisfied her appetites honestly with a valiant and virtuous knight like you, or with many others who are in love with her, but the sky, the earth, the sea and the sands abominate the sin she has committed (and still commits daily). Only Our Lord would permit such an abominable crime of adultery without punishing her! If you knew what I know you would spit in her face.
But why should I try to exaggerate such an ugly crime with unnecessary words? She has become involved with Lauseta—that's his name. He's a black slave, a Moorish gardener who takes care of the orchard. And don't think, your grace, that all these things I've told you are simply fables, because I'll let you see it with your own eyes. She has made me live with this enormous pain for a long time. How many kinds of herbs have I gone to pick, and then placed them inside her to destroy the fetus in her infamous stomach! Oh wretch, the poor thing was punished because of my sin! And its body wasn't buried, but instead made its trip down the river. What else could I do so that the grandchild would not be seen by the emperor, its grandfather? She has the pleasure, if it can be called that, and I have the blame."
Tirant, with all the melancholy he felt, said:
"Widow, your words have gone straight to my miserable heart. They hurt me more deeply than I have ever been hurt before. I beg you, virtuous lady, show me the cause of my pain, because otherwise I couldn't believe words that sound so unreasonable. It seems impossible that such a celestial person would freely place her beauty in the hands of a black savage."