“You say well, Sancho,” said the duchess, “and I will take care that my Altisidora employs herself henceforward in needlework of some sort; for she is extremely expert at it.”
“There is no occasion to have recourse to that remedy, señora,” said Altisidora; “for the mere thought of the cruelty with which this vagabond villain has treated me will suffice to blot him out of my memory without any other device; with your highness’s leave I will retire, not to have before my eyes, I won’t say his rueful countenance, but his abominable, ugly looks.”
“That reminds me of the common saying, that ‘he that rails is ready to forgive,’ ” said the duke.
Altisidora then, pretending to wipe away her tears with a handkerchief, made an obeisance to her master and mistress and quitted the room.
“Ill luck betide thee, poor damsel,” said Sancho, “ill luck betide thee! Thou hast fallen in with a soul as dry as a rush and a heart as hard as oak; had it been me, i’faith ‘another cock would have crowed to thee.’ ”
So the conversation came to an end, and Don Quixote dressed himself and dined with the duke and duchess, and set out the same evening.