'I was indeed well received by the Duke Ricardo and nobly treated. His elder son liked me well, and was kind to me, but the one who rejoiced most at my coming was Fernando, his second son, a young man who was both noble, gallant, and very comely. In a short time he had so made me his friend that there were no secrets between us, and he told me all his thoughts and desires, and confided to me a love affair of his own which caused him much anxiety.
'He had fallen in love with the daughter of a farmer, his father's vassal, whose parents were rich, and she herself was beautiful, modest, and virtuous. But he did not dare to tell his father of his love because of their difference in rank, and though he had promised to marry this farmer's daughter, he had come to fear that the Duke would never consent to let him carry out his desire. He told me that he could find no better mode of keeping the remembrance of her beauty out of his mind, than by leaving home for some months; and he suggested that we should both depart for awhile to my father's house, under the pretence of going to buy horses, for the city where I was born was a place where they bred the best horses in the world.
'When I heard of his wishes I did all I could to strengthen them, and urged him to carry out his plan, which offered me a chance of seeing once more my dear Lucinda.
'At last the Duke gave him leave, and ordered me to go with him. We arrived at my native city, and my father gave him the reception due to his rank. I again saw Lucinda. My love for her increased, though indeed it had never grown cold, and to my sorrow I told Don Fernando all about it, for I thought by the laws of friendship it was not right to hide anything from him. I described her beauty, her grace, and her wit, with such eloquence, that my praises stirred in him a desire to see a damsel enriched by such rare virtues. To my misfortune I yielded to his wish, and took him with me one night to a window where Lucinda and I were wont to speak together. He stood mute, as one beside himself, and from that moment he could speak nothing but praises of my Lucinda. Yet I confess that I took no pleasure in hearing her thus praised, because it roused in me a strange feeling of jealousy. I did not fear the faith and honour of Lucinda, but at the same time I felt a hidden terror of the future. Now Don Fernando continued, as my friend, to read all the letters I sent to Lucinda, or she to me, under the pretence that he took great delight in the wit of both of us, and it fell out that Lucinda asked me to send her a book of the Knightly Adventures of Amadis of Gaul.'
No sooner did Don Quixote hear the name of one of his favourite heroes than he interrupted the story, saying: 'If, my good Sir, you had told me that your Lady Lucinda was a reader of knightly adventures, you need not have said anything else to make me acknowledge her wit. Waste no further words on her beauty and worth, for now I assert that from her devotion to books of Knighthood, the Lady Lucinda is the fairest and most accomplished woman in all the world. Pardon my interruption, but when I hear anything said of the books of Knights Errant, I can no more keep from speaking of them than the sunbeams can help giving forth warmth. Therefore forgive me, and proceed.'
While Don Quixote was speaking, Cardenio held his head down, his face grew sullen, and he bit his lip. When he looked up, he seemed to have forgotten all about his story, and in a burst of rage said: 'A plague on all your books of Knighthood! Amadis was a fool, and the Queen Madasima was a wicked woman.'
'By all that is good,' replied Don Quixote, in great anger—for this Queen was a favourite heroine of his—'it is a villainy to say such a thing. The Queen Madasima was a very noble lady, and whoever says or thinks the contrary lies like an arrant coward, and this I will make him know a-horseback or a-foot, armed or disarmed, by night or day, as he liketh best.'
Cardenio stood gazing at Don Quixote strangely—for now the mad fit was on him—and hearing himself called liar and coward, he caught up a stone that was near him, and gave the Knight such a blow with it that he threw him backwards on the ground. Sancho Panza, seeing his Master so roughly handled, set upon the madman with his fists, but the Tattered One overthrew him with one blow and trampled him under his feet like dough. After this he departed into the wood very quietly.
Sancho got up and wanted to take vengeance on the Goatherd, who, he said, should have warned them about the madman. The Goatherd declared he had done so, and Sancho retorted that he had not; and from words they got to blows, and had seized each other by the beards, when Don Quixote parted them, saying that the Goatherd was in no way to blame for what had happened. He then again inquired where Cardenio was likely to be found, and the Goatherd repeated what he had said at first, that his abode was uncertain, but that if they went much about in those parts they would be sure to meet with him either mad or sane.