when, or where, or in what shape, my enemies will attack me. It is
always wise to be ready. Fore-warned is fore-armed. Give me my helmet,
Sancho!"

Snatching it out of Sancho's unwilling hands, he clapped it on his
head without looking into it.

"What is this, Sancho?" he cried, as the whey ran down his face. "What
is the matter with me? Is my brain melting, or am I breaking out in a
cold sweat? If I am, it is not from fear. This must be a dreadful
adventure that is coming. Quick. Sancho! give me something to wipe
away the torrent of sweat, for I am almost blinded."

Without a word, Sancho handed to his master a cloth. Don Quixote dried
himself, and then took off his helmet to see what it was that felt so
cold on his head.

"What is this white stuff?" said he, putting some of the curds to his
nose. "Sancho, you vile traitor, you have been putting curds in my
helmet!"

"Curds!--I?" cried Sancho. "Nay, the devil must have put them there.
Would I dare to make such a mess in your helmet, sir? It must have
been one of those vile enchanters. Where could I get curds? I would
sooner put them in my stomach than in your helmet."

"Well, that's true, I dare say," said Don Quixote. "There's something
in that."

Then again he put on the helmet, and made ready for the adventure.