hand fastened to the door, fearing lest Rozinante should
move and he should be left hanging. But in this he did wrong to his
horse, who was happy enough to stand still.

Then Don Quixote, seeing himself bound, instead of seeking to unloose
himself as many others would have tried to do, sat quietly in his
saddle, and dreamed dreams of the enchantment which had befallen him.
And thus he stayed till the day dawned.

His dreams were rudely broken into when there drew up at the inn door
four men well armed and mounted. As no one answered their knock, they
repeated it more loudly, when Don Quixote cried to them:

'Knights or squires, or whoever you may be, it is not for you to knock
at the gates of this castle; for sure, any man might tell that those
within are asleep, or else it is their custom not to open until the sun
touches the whole floor. You must wait until it is broad day, and then
it will be seen whether you can be admitted within the gates.'

'What sort of castle is this, which receives no guests without such
ceremonies?' mocked one of the men. 'If you are the innkeeper, bid your
servants open to us without delay. We are neither knights nor squires,
but honest travellers, who need corn for our horses, and that without
delay.'

'Have I the air of an innkeeper?' asked Don Quixote loftily.

'I do not know of what you have the air,' answered the man, 'but this I
_do_ know, and that is that you are jesting when you call this inn a
castle.'

'But it _is_ a castle,' replied Don Quixote, 'and one of the finest in
the whole country! And within are those who carry crowns on their heads
and sceptres in their hands.'

'It may well be that inside are players with crowns and sceptres both,'
answered the traveller, 'for in so small an inn no real kings and their
trains would find a place'; and, being weary of talking, he knocked at
the door with more violence than before.

Meanwhile, one of the horses had drawn near to Rozinante, wondering what
the strange creature could be, of a form like unto his own, but to all
outward seeming formed of wood. Rozinante, cheered by the presence of
one of his own kind, moved his body a little, which caused Don Quixote
to slip from his saddle, and to remain hanging by his arm, though his
feet almost touched the ground. The pain of thus being suspended from
his arm was so great that, knight though he was, he shrieked in agony,
till the people in the inn ran to the doors to see what was t