not gold rings, and real gold, and set with pearls as white as a curdled
milk, and every one of them worth an eye of one's head! Whoreson baggage,
what hair she has! if it's not a wig, I never saw longer or fairer all
the days of my life. See how bravely she bears herself--and her shape!
Wouldn't you say she was like a walking palm tree loaded with clusters of
dates? for the trinkets she has hanging from her hair and neck look just
like them. I swear in my heart she is a brave lass, and fit 'to pass over
the banks of Flanders.'"

Don Quixote laughed at Sancho's boorish eulogies and thought that, saving
his lady Dulcinea del Toboso, he had never seen a more beautiful woman.
The fair Quiteria appeared somewhat pale, which was, no doubt, because of
the bad night brides always pass dressing themselves out for their
wedding on the morrow. They advanced towards a theatre that stood on one
side of the meadow decked with carpets and boughs, where they were to
plight their troth, and from which they were to behold the dances and
plays; but at the moment of their arrival at the spot they heard a loud
outcry behind them, and a voice exclaiming, "Wait a little, ye, as
inconsiderate as ye are hasty!" At these words all turned round, and
perceived that the speaker was a man clad in what seemed to be a loose
black coat garnished with crimson patches like flames. He was crowned (as
was presently seen) with a crown of gloomy cypress, and in his hand he
held a long staff. As he approached he was recognised by everyone as the
gay Basilio, and all waited anxiously to see what would come of his
words, in dread of some catastrophe in consequence of his appearance at
such a moment. He came up at last weary and breathless, and planting
himself in front of the bridal pair, drove his staff, which had a steel
spike at the end, into the ground, and, with a pale face and eyes fixed
on Quiteria, he thus addressed her in a hoarse, trembling voice: