But no one took the least notice of him, and he sat sadly down on the road, waiting till Sancho brought "Rozinante" to him. Then master and man went on their way, Don Quixote sore ashamed of his defeat, hurt as much in mind as in body.
That evening they dismounted at the door of an inn, and put up "Rozinante" and "Dapple" in the stable. Sancho asked the landlord what he could give them for supper.
"Why," said the man, "you may have anything you choose to call for. The inn can provide fowls of the air, birds of the earth, and fishes of the sea."
"There's no need for all that," said Sancho. "If you roast a couple of chickens it will be enough, for my master eats but little, and for myself, I have no great appetite."
"Chickens?" said the host. "I am sorry I have no chickens just now. The hawks have killed them all."
"Well, then, roast us a pullet, if it be tender."
"A pullet? Well, now, that is unlucky. I sent away fifty to the market only yesterday. But, putting pullets aside, ask for anything you like."
"Why, then," said Sancho, pondering, "let us have some veal, or a bit of kid."
"Sorry sir, we are just out of veal and kid also. Next week we shall have enough and to spare."