ye are carrying her off against her will, and
that ye have committed some scandalous outrage against her; and I, who
was born into the world to redress all such like wrongs, will not permit
you to advance another step until you have restored to her the liberty
she pines for and deserves."

From these words all the hearers concluded that he must be a madman, and
began to laugh heartily, and their laughter acted like gunpowder on Don
Quixote's fury, for drawing his sword without another word he made a rush
at the stand. One of those who supported it, leaving the burden to his
comrades, advanced to meet him, flourishing a forked stick that he had
for propping up the stand when resting, and with this he caught a mighty
cut Don Quixote made at him that severed it in two; but with the portion
that remained in his hand he dealt such a thwack on the shoulder of Don
Quixote's sword arm (which the buckler could not protect against the
clownish assault) that poor Don Quixote came to the ground in a sad
plight.

Sancho Panza, who was coming on close behind puffing and blowing, seeing
him fall, cried out to his assailant not to strike him again, for he was
poor enchanted knight, who had never harmed anyone all the days of his
life; but what checked the clown was, not Sancho's shouting, but seeing
that Don Quixote did not stir hand or foot; and so, fancying he had
killed him, he hastily hitched up his tunic under his girdle and took to
his heels across the country like a deer.

By this time all Don Quixote's companions had come up to where he lay;
but the processionists seeing them come running, and with them the
officers of the Brotherhood with their crossbows, apprehended mischief,
and clustering round the image, raised their hoods, and grasped their
scourges, as the priests did their tapers, and awaited the attack,
resolved to defend themselves and even to take the offensive against
their assailants if they could. Fortune, however, arranged the matter
better than they expected, for all Sancho did was to fling himself on his
master's body, raising over him the most doleful and laughable
lamentation that ever was heard, for he believed he was dead. The curate
was known to another curate who walked in the procession, and their
recognition of one another set at rest the apprehensions of both parties;
the first then told the other in two words who Don Quixote was, and he
and the whole troop of penitents went to see if the poor gentle