have very gladly helped himself to a moderate pipkinful; then the wine skins secured his affections; and lastly, the produce of the frying-pans, if, indeed, such imposing cauldrons may be called frying-pans; and unable to control himself or bear it any longer, he approached one of the busy cooks and civilly but hungrily begged permission to soak a scrap of bread in one of the pots; to which the cook made answer, “Brother, this is not a day on which hunger is to have any sway, thanks to the rich Camacho; get down and look about for a ladle and skim off a hen or two, and much good may they do you.”
“I don’t see one,” said Sancho.
“Wait a bit,” said the cook; “sinner that I am! how particular and bashful you are!” and so saying, he seized a bucket and plunging it into one of the half jars took up three hens and a couple of geese, and said to Sancho, “Fall to, friend, and take the edge off your appetite with these skimmings until dinnertime comes.”
“I have nothing to put them in,” said Sancho.
“Well then,” said the cook, “take spoon and all; for Camacho’s wealth and happiness furnish everything.”
While Sancho fared thus, Don Quixote was watching the entrance, at one end of the arcade, of some twelve peasants, all in holiday and gala dress, mounted on twelve beautiful mares with rich handsome field trappings and a number of little bells attached to their petrals, who, marshalled in regular order, ran not one but several courses over the meadow, with jubilant shouts and cries of “Long live Camacho and Quiteria! he as rich as she is fair; and she the fairest on earth!”
Hearing this, Don Quixote said to himself, “It is easy to see these folk have never seen my Dulcinea del Toboso; for if they had they would be more moderate in their praises of this Quiteria of theirs.”