exclaimed in a loud voice, "Never, while I live, will I permit foul play
to be practised in my presence on such a famous knight and fearless lover
as Don Gaiferos. Halt! ill-born rabble, follow him not nor pursue him, or
ye will have to reckon with me in battle!" and suiting the action to the
word, he drew his sword, and with one bound placed himself close to the
show, and with unexampled rapidity and fury began to shower down blows on
the puppet troop of Moors, knocking over some, decapitating others,
maiming this one and demolishing that; and among many more he delivered
one down stroke which, if Master Pedro had not ducked, made himself
small, and got out of the way, would have sliced off his head as easily
as if it had been made of almond-paste. Master Pedro kept shouting, "Hold
hard! Senor Don Quixote! can't you see they're not real Moors you're
knocking down and killing and destroying, but only little pasteboard
figures! Look--sinner that I am!--how you're wrecking and ruining all
that I'm worth!" But in spite of this, Don Quixote did not leave off
discharging a continuous rain of cuts, slashes, downstrokes, and
backstrokes, and at length, in less than the space of two credos, he
brought the whole show to the ground, with all its fittings and figures
shivered and knocked to pieces, King Marsilio badly wounded, and the
Emperor Charlemagne with his crown and head split in two. The whole
audience was thrown into confusion, the ape fled to the roof of the inn,
the cousin was frightened, and even Sancho Panza himself was in mighty
fear, for, as he swore after the storm was over, he had never seen his
master in such a furious passion.

The complete destruction of the show being thus accomplished, Don Quixote
became a little calmer, said, "I wish I had here before me now all those
who do not or will not believe how useful knights-errant are in the
world; just think, if I had not been here present, what would have become
of the brave Don Gaiferos and the fair Melisendra! Depend upon it, by