cle, and he called out
gleefully: "Welcome back, Senor, for we had begun to think you were
going to stop there to found a family."

Don Quixote did not move, however, and they laid him on the ground and
found he was fast asleep. When he came to, he was in an exalted state.
He raised his eyes toward Heaven, and asked God to forgive them for
having taken him away from such a glorious and spectacular pleasure.
But Sancho was curious to know what he had seen down there in Hell,
and he interrupted and asked the question.

"Hell!" cried Don Quixote. "Call it by no such name, for it does not
deserve it."

Then he asked for something to eat, and Sancho put before him an
abundance of food, since he said he was very hungry. When he had
eaten, he asked them to sit still and listen to his story.

CHAPTER XXIII

OF THE WONDERFUL THINGS THE INCOMPARABLE DON QUIXOTE SAID HE
SAW IN THE PROFOUND CAVE OF MONTESINOS, THE IMPOSSIBILITY
AND MAGNITUDE OF WHICH CAUSE THIS ADVENTURE TO BE APOCRYPHAL

When he was being hoisted down, Don Quixote said, he had suddenly
landed on a precipice which led to a cave within the cave, large
enough to hold a team of mules and a cart. There, he claimed, he fell
asleep, only to wake and find himself in a beautiful field, from where
he had gone on a regular sightseeing trip, visiting the most wonderful
castles and palaces, and meeting with the most exalted personages.
Among these was no other than the enchanted Montesinos himself. He had
taken Don Quixote into his own palace, built of crystal and alabaster,
and shown him the tomb of his friend Durandarte, who lay there in his
enchantment, with his hairy hand over his heart. Don Quixote had asked
whether it were indeed true that he, Montesinos, had cut out the heart
of his dead friend, as the story had told, and brought it to his
Lady Belerma, and Montesinos had nodded in affirmation.

Suddenly they had heard the poor dead knight moan in the most
heartrending way, and he had asked Montesinos again and again whether
he had done as he had bade him and carried his heart to his Lady
Belerma in France. Montesinos had fallen on his knees and had assured
his cousin with tearful eyes that as soon as he had died he had cut
out his heart with a poniard, dried it with a lace handkerchief as
well as he could, and then departed to see his Lady. At the first
village he had come to in France, he had stopped to sprinkle some salt
on it to keep it fresh, and h