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Containing an account of many surprising accidents in the inn.
At the same time the innkeeper, who stood at the door, seeing
company coming, "More guests," cried he; "a brave jolly troop,
on my word. If they stop here, we may rejoice." "What are
they?" said Cardenio. "Four men," said the host, "on horseback,
with black masks on their faces, and armed with lances
and targets; a lady too all in white, that rides single and masked;
and two running footmen." "Are they near?" said the curate.
"Just at the door," replied the innkeeper. Hearing this, Dorothea
veiled herself, and Cardenio had just time enough to step
into the next room, where Don Quixote lay, when the strangers
came into the yard. The four horsemen, who made a very genteel
appearance, dismounted and went to help down the lady,
whom one of them taking in his arms, carried into the house,
where he seated her in a chair by the chamber-door, into which
Cardenio had withdrawn. All this was done without discovering
their faces, or speaking a word; only the lady, as she sat down
in the chair, breathed out a deep sigh, and let her arms sink
down in a weak and fainting posture. The curate, marking their
[Pg 128]
odd behaviour, which raised in him a curiosity to know who they
were, went to their servants in the stable, and asked what their
masters were? "Indeed, sir," said one of them, "that is more
than we can tell you; they seem of no mean quality, especially
that gentleman who carried the lady into the house; for the rest
pay him great respect, and his word is a law to them." "Who
is the lady?" said the curate. "We know no more of her than
the rest," answered the fellow; "for we could never see her face
all the time, and it is impossible we should know her or them
otherwise. They picked us up on the road, and prevailed with
us to wait on them to Andalusia, promising to pay us well for
our trouble; so that, except the two days' travelling in their company,
they are utter strangers to us." "Could you not hear
them name one another all this time?" asked the curate. "No,
truly, sir," answered the footman; "for we heard them not speak
a syllable all the way; the poor lady indeed used to sigh and
grieve so piteously, that we are persuaded she has no stomach to
this journey." "Very likely," said the curate; and with that
leaving them, he returned to the place where he left Dorothea,
who, hearing the masked lady sigh so frequently, moved by the
natural pity of the soft sex, could not forbear inquiring the cause
of her sorrow. "Pardon me, madam," said she, "if I beg to
know your grief; and assure yourself that my request does not
proceed from mere curiosity, but an earnest inclination to assist
you, if your misfortune be such as our sex is naturally subject
to, and in the power of a woman to cure." The lady made no
return to her compliment, and Dorothea pressed her in vain (...)
(......)
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