'Because truly,' replied his Squire, 'your Worship has now the most ill-favoured face that any man ever saw, and it must be, I think, because you are tired out after the battle, or on account of the loss of your grinders.'
'I fancy,' said Don Quixote, 'that some sage must have put it into thy head to give me such a name, for now I remember that all Knights took a name of that kind, and there was "The Knight of the Flaming Sword," and "The Knight of the Griffin," and many another. And from this day forward I shall call myself by no other name than "The Knight of the Rueful Countenance"; and that the name may become me better, I will upon the first occasion cause to be painted on my shield a most ill-favoured and sorrowful face.'
'There is no need,' said Sancho, 'to waste time and money in having the countenance painted. All that has to be done is that your Worship should discover your own, and show your face to those that look at you, when without doubt they will name you "He of the Rueful Countenance." Hunger and the loss of teeth have given your Worship so evil a face that you may spare yourself the painting.'
Don Quixote laughed at his Squire's pleasantry, but determined nevertheless to have the painting made on his shield according to his fancy.
They had now arrived at a wide but hidden valley between two mountains, where they alighted; and seeing a meadow on the side of the hill thick with green and tender grass, they entered it and marched along, feeling their way, for the night was so dark they could not see a jot.
They had scarcely gone two hundred paces when they heard a great noise of water, as if it fell headlong from some great and steep rock, and being by this time very thirsty, the sound cheered them greatly.
Stopping to listen whence it came, they heard another loud noise, which drowned all their joy, especially Sancho's, who, as I have said, was by nature timid and easily frightened.
They heard, I say, certain blows, louder than the sound of the rushing water, and struck in regular beats, accompanied by the ugly sounds of rattling irons and chains. These, with the furious sounds of the water, and the surrounding darkness, were enough to strike terror into any heart less brave than Don Quixote's.
The night, as I said, was dark, and they were now among some tall trees, whose leaves, moved by a gentle breeze, made a low whispering sound, so that the loneliness of the place, the darkness, the noise of the water, the strange sounds of the heavy beating and rattling chains, all caused horror and fright, the more so when they found that the blows never ceased, and morning seemed as though it would never come.
But Don Quixote was not disturbed by these things, and leaping on Rozinante, he seized his shield, brandished his lance, and said: 'Friend Sancho, I am he for whom are reserved all dangerous, great, and valorous feats. I am he who shall cause the feats of the Knights of the Round Table to be forgotten. Mark well, trusty and loyal Squire, the darkness of this night, the strange stillness, the dull, confused trembling of the leaves, the dreadful noise of the water, which seems as though it were leaping down from the steep mountains of the moon, the constant thumping of the blows which wounds and pains our ears, which all together and each by itself are enough to strike terror, fear, and amazement into the mind of Mars, how much more in his that is not accustomed to such adventures. But with me it causeth my heart to almost burst in my bosom with joy to try this peril, however great it may be. Therefore tighten Rozinante's girths a little, and may all be well with thee. Wait for me here three days and no more. And if I do not return in the end of that time, go back to our village, and from thence, for my sake, to Toboso, where thou shalt say to my incomparable Lady Dulcinea that her captive Knight died attempting things that might make him worthy to be called hers.'