d through me."

"That will I give with all my heart," said Sancho; "but what has become
of the lions? Are they dead or alive?"

The keeper, then, in full detail, and bit by bit, described the end of
the contest, exalting to the best of his power and ability the valour of
Don Quixote, at the sight of whom the lion quailed, and would not and
dared not come out of the cage, although he had held the door open ever
so long; and showing how, in consequence of his having represented to the
knight that it was tempting God to provoke the lion in order to force him
out, which he wished to have done, he very reluctantly, and altogether
against his will, had allowed the door to be closed.

"What dost thou think of this, Sancho?" said Don Quixote. "Are there any
enchantments that can prevail against true valour? The enchanters may be
able to rob me of good fortune, but of fortitude and courage they
cannot."

Sancho paid the crowns, the carter put to, the keeper kissed Don
Quixote's hands for the bounty bestowed upon him, and promised to give an
account of the valiant exploit to the King himself, as soon as he saw him
at court.

"Then," said Don Quixote, "if his Majesty should happen to ask who
performed it, you must say THE KNIGHT OF THE LIONS; for it is my desire
that into this the name I have hitherto borne of Knight of the Rueful
Countenance be from this time forward changed, altered, transformed, and
turned; and in this I follow the ancient usage of knights-errant, who
changed their names when they pleased, or when it suited their purpose."

The cart went its way, and Don Quixote, Sancho, and he of the green gaban
went theirs. All this time, Don Diego de Miranda had not spoken a word,
being entirely taken up with observing and noting all that Don Quixote
did and said, and the opinion he formed was that he was a man of brains
gone mad, and a madman on the verge of rationality. The first part of his
history had not yet reached him, for, had he read it, the amazement with
which his words and deeds filled him would have vanished, as he would
then have understood the nature of his madness; but knowing nothing of
it, he took him to be rational one moment, and crazy the next, for what
he said was sensible, elegant, and well expressed, and what he did,
absurd, rash, and foolish; and said he to himself, "What could be madder
than putting on a helmet full of curds, and then persuading oneself that
enchanters are softening one's skul