“Thou art right, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “for this painter is like Orbaneja, a painter there was at Úbeda, who when they asked him what he was painting, used to say, ‘Whatever it may turn out;’ and if he chanced to paint a cock he would write under it, ‘This is a cock,’ for fear they might think it was a fox. The painter or writer, for it’s all the same, who published the history of this new Don Quixote that has come out, must have been one of this sort I think, Sancho, for he painted or wrote ‘whatever it might turn out;’ or perhaps he is like a poet called Mauléon that was about the Court some years ago, who used to answer at haphazard whatever he was asked, and on one asking him what Deum de Deo meant, he replied De donde diere . But, putting this aside, tell me, Sancho, hast thou a mind to have another turn at thyself tonight, and wouldst thou rather have it indoors or in the open air?”