By this time Don Quixote had recovered from his swoon; and in the same tone of voice in which he had called to his squire the day before when he lay stretched “in the vale of the stakes,” he began calling to him now, “Sancho, my friend, art thou asleep? sleepest thou, friend Sancho?”
“How can I sleep, curses on it!” returned Sancho discontentedly and bitterly, “when it is plain that all the devils have been at me this night?”
“Thou mayest well believe that,” answered Don Quixote, “because, either I know little, or this castle is enchanted, for thou must know — but this that I am now about to tell thee thou must swear to keep secret until after my death.”
“I swear it,” answered Sancho.
“I say so,” continued Don Quixote, “because I hate taking away anyone’s good name.”
“I say,” replied Sancho, “that I swear to hold my tongue about it till the end of your worship’s days, and God grant I may be able to let it out tomorrow.”
“Do I do thee such injuries, Sancho,” said Don Quixote, “that thou wouldst see me dead so soon?”
“It is not for that,” replied Sancho, “but because I hate keeping things long, and I don’t want them to grow rotten with me from over-keeping.”
“At any rate,” said Don Quixote, “I have more confidence in thy affection and good nature; and so I would have thee know that this night there befell me one of the strangest adventures that I could describe, and to relate it to thee briefly thou must know that a little while ago the daughter of the lord of this castle came to me, and that she is the most elegant and beautiful damsel that could be found in the wide world. What I could tell thee of the charms of her person! of her lively wit! of other secret matters which, to preserve the fealty I owe to my lady Dulcinea del Toboso, I shall pass over unnoticed and in silence! I will only tell thee that, either fate being envious of so great a boon placed in my hands by good fortune, or perhaps (and this is more probable) this castle being, as I have already said, enchanted, at the time when I was engaged in the sweetest and most amorous discourse with her, there came, without my seeing or knowing whence it came, a hand attached to some arm of some huge giant, that planted such a cuff on my jaws that I have them all bathed in blood, and then pummelled me in such a way that I am in a worse plight than yesterday when the carriers, on account of Rocinante’s misbehaviour, inflicted on us the injury thou knowest of; whence conjecture that there must be some enchanted Moor guarding the treasure of this damsel’s beauty, and that it is not for me.”
“Not for me either,” said Sancho, “for more than four hundred Moors have so thrashed me that the drubbing of the stakes was cakes and fancy-bread to it. But tell me, senor, what do you call this excellent and rare adventure that has left us as we are left now? Though your worship was not so badly off, having in your arms that incomparable beauty you spoke of; but I, what did I have, except the heaviest whacks I think I had in all my life? Unlucky me and the mother that bore me! for I am not a knight-errant and never expect to be one, and of all the mishaps, the greater part falls to my share.”
“Then thou hast been thrashed too?” said Don Quixote.
“Didn’t I say so? worse luck to my line!” said Sancho.
“Be not distressed, friend,” said Don Quixote, “for I will now make the precious balsam with which we shall cure ourselves in the twinkling of an eye.”
By this time the cuadrillero had succeeded in lighting the lamp, and came in to see the man that he thought had been killed; and as Sancho caught sight of him at the door, seeing him coming in his shirt, with a cloth on his head, and a lamp in his hand, and a very forbidding countenance, he said to his master, “Senor, can it be that this is the enchanted Moor coming back to give us more castigation if there be anything still left in the ink-bottle?”
“It cannot be the Moor,” answered Don Quixote, “for those under enchantment do not let themselves be seen by anyone.”
“If they don’t let themselves be seen, they let themselves be felt,” said Sancho; “if not, let my shoulders speak to the point.”
“Mine could speak too,” said Don Quixote, “but that is not a sufficient reason for believing that what we see is the enchanted Moor.”
The officer came up, and finding them engaged in such a peaceful conversation, stood amazed; though Don Quixote, to be sure, still lay on his back unable to move from pure pummelling and plasters. The officer turned to him and said, “Well, how goes it, good man?”
“I would speak more politely if I were you,” replied Don Quixote; “is it the way of this country to address knights-errant in that style, you booby?”
The cuadrillero finding himself so disrespectfully treated by such a sorry-looking individual, lost his temper, and raising the lamp full of oil, smote Don Quixote such a blow with it on the head that he gave him a badly broken pate; then, all being in darkness, he went out, and Sancho Panza said, “That is certainly the enchanted Moor, Senor, and he keeps the treasure for others, and for us only the cuffs and lamp-whacks.”
“That is the truth,” answered Don Quixote, “and there is no use in troubling oneself about these matters of enchantment or being angry or vexed at them, for as they are invisible and visionary we shall find no one on whom to avenge ourselves, do what we may; rise, Sancho, if thou canst, and call the alcaide of this fortress, and get him to give me a little oil, wine, salt, and rosemary to make the salutiferous balsam, for indeed I believe I have great need of it now, because I am losing much blood from the wound that phantom gave me.”
Sancho got up with pain enough in his bones, and went after the innkeeper in the dark, and meeting the officer, who was looking to see what had become of his enemy, he said to him, “Senor, whoever you are, do us the favour and kindness to give us a little rosemary, oil, salt, and wine, for it is wanted to cure one of the best knights-errant on earth, who lies on yonder bed wounded by the hands of the enchanted Moor that is in this inn.”
When the officer heard him talk in this way, he took him for a man out of his senses, and as day was now beginning to break, he opened the inn gate, and calling the host, he told him what this good man wanted. The host furnished him with what he required, and Sancho brought it to Don Quixote, who, with his hand to his head, was bewailing the pain of the blow of the lamp, which had done him no more harm than raising a couple of rather large lumps, and what he fancied blood was only the sweat that flowed from him in his sufferings during the late storm. To be brief, he took the materials, of which he made a compound, mixing them all and boiling them a good while until it seemed to him they had come to perfection. He then asked for some vial to pour it into, and as there was not one in the inn, he decided on putting it into a tin oil-bottle or flask of which the host made him a free gift; and over the flask he repeated more than eighty paternosters and as many more ave-marias, salves, and credos, accompanying each word with a cross by way of benediction, at all which there were present Sancho, the innkeeper, and the cuadrillero; for the carrier was now peacefully engaged in attending to the comfort of his mules.
This being accomplished, he felt anxious to make trial himself, on the spot, of the virtue of this precious balsam, as he considered it, and so he drank near a quart of what could not be put into the flask and remained in the pigskin in which it had been boiled; but scarcely had he done drinking when he began to vomit in such a way that nothing was left in his stomach, and with the pangs and spasms of vomiting he broke into a profuse sweat, on account of which he bade them cover him up and leave him alone. They did so, and he lay sleeping more than three hours, at the end of which he awoke and felt very great bodily relief and so much ease from his bruises that he thought himself quite cured, and verily believed he had hit upon the balsam of Fierabras; and that with this remedy he might thenceforward, without any fear, face any kind of destruction, battle, or combat, however perilous it might be.
Sancho Panza, who also regarded the amendment of his master as miraculous, begged him to give him what was left in the pigskin, which was no small quantity. Don Quixote consented, and he, taking it with both hands, in good faith and with a better will, gulped down and drained off very little less than his master. But the fact is, that the stomach of poor Sancho was of necessity not so delicate as that of his master, and so, before vomiting, he was seized with such gripings and retchings, and such sweats and faintness, that verily and truly be believed his last hour had come, and finding himself so racked and tormented he cursed the balsam and the thief that had given it to him.
Don Quixote seeing him in this state said, “It is my belief, Sancho, that this mischief comes of thy not being dubbed a knight, for I am persuaded this liquor cannot be good for those who are not so.”
“If your worship knew that,” returned Sancho — “woe betide me and all my kindred! — why did you let me taste it?”
At this moment the draught took effect, and the poor squire began to discharge both ways at such a rate that the rush mat on which he had thrown himself and the canvas blanket he had covering him were fit for nothing afterwards. He sweated and perspired with such paroxysms and convulsions that not only he himself but all present thought his end had come. This tempest and tribulation lasted about two hours, at the end of which he was left, not like his master, but so weak and exhausted that he could not stand. Don Quixote, however, who, as has been said, felt himself relieved and well, was eager to take his departure at once in quest of adventures, as it seemed to him that all the time he loitered there was a fraud upon the world and those in it who stood in need of his help and protection, all the more when he had the security and confidence his balsam afforded him; and so, urged by this impulse, he saddled Rocinante himself and put the pack-saddle on his squire’s beast, whom likewise he helped to dress and mount the ass; after which he mounted his horse and turning to a corner of the inn he laid hold of a pike that stood there, to serve him by way of a lance. All that were in the inn, who were more than twenty persons, stood watching him; the innkeeper’s daughter was likewise observing him, and he too never took his eyes off her, and from time to time fetched a sigh that he seemed to pluck up from the depths of his bowels; but they all thought it must be from the pain he felt in his ribs; at any rate they who had seen him plastered the night before thought so.
As soon as they were both mounted, at the gate of the inn, he called to the host and said in a very grave and measured voice, “Many and great are the favours, Senor Alcaide, that I have received in this castle of yours, and I remain under the deepest obligation to be grateful to you for them all the days of my life; if I can repay them in avenging you of any arrogant foe who may have wronged you, know that my calling is no other than to aid the weak, to avenge those who suffer wrong, and to chastise perfidy. Search your memory, and if you find anything of this kind you need only tell me of it, and I promise you by the order of knighthood which I have received to procure you satisfaction and reparation to the utmost of your desire.”
The innkeeper replied to him with equal calmness, “Sir Knight, I do not want your worship to avenge me of any wrong, because when any is done me I can take what vengeance seems good to me; the only thing I want is that you pay me the score that you have run up in the inn last night, as well for the straw and barley for your two beasts, as for supper and beds.”
“Then this is an inn?” said Don Quixote.
“And a very respectable one,” said the innkeeper.
“I have been under a mistake all this time,” answered Don Quixote, “for in truth I thought it was a castle, and not a bad one; but since it appears that it is not a castle but an inn, all that can be done now is that you should excuse the payment, for I cannot contravene the rule of knights-errant, of whom I know as a fact (and up to the present I have read nothing to the contrary) that they never paid for lodging or anything else in the inn where they might be; for any hospitality that might be offered them is their due by law and right in return for the insufferable toil they endure in seeking adventures by night and by day, in summer and in winter, on foot and on horseback, in hunger and thirst, cold and heat, exposed to all the inclemencies of heaven and all the hardships of earth.”
“I have little to do with that,” replied the innkeeper; “pay me what you owe me, and let us have no more talk of chivalry, for all I care about is to get my money.”
“You are a stupid, scurvy innkeeper,” said Don Quixote, and putting spurs to Rocinante and bringing his pike to the slope he rode out of the inn before anyone could stop him, and pushed on some distance without looking to see if his squire was following him.
The innkeeper when he saw him go without paying him ran to get payment of Sancho, who said that as his master would not pay neither would he, because, being as he was squire to a knight-errant, the same rule and reason held good for him as for his master with regard to not paying anything in inns and hostelries. At this the innkeeper waxed very wroth, and threatened if he did not pay to compel him in a way that he would not like. To which Sancho made answer that by the law of chivalry his master had received he would not pay a rap, though it cost him his life; for the excellent and ancient usage of knights-errant was not going to be violated by him, nor should the squires of such as were yet to come into the world ever complain of him or reproach him with breaking so just a privilege.
The ill-luck of the unfortunate Sancho so ordered it that among the company in the inn there were four woolcarders from Segovia, three needle-makers from the Colt of Cordova, and two lodgers from the Fair of Seville, lively fellows, tender-hearted, fond of a joke, and playful, who, almost as if instigated and moved by a common impulse, made up to Sancho and dismounted him from his ass, while one of them went in for the blanket of the host’s bed; but on flinging him into it they looked up, and seeing that the ceiling was somewhat lower what they required for their work, they decided upon going out into the yard, which was bounded by the sky, and there, putting Sancho in the middle of the blanket, they began to raise him high, making sport with him as they would with a dog at Shrovetide.
The cries of the poor blanketed wretch were so loud that they reached the ears of his master, who, halting to listen attentively, was persuaded that some new adventure was coming, until he clearly perceived that it was his squire who uttered them. Wheeling about he came up to the inn with a laborious gallop, and finding it shut went round it to see if he could find some way of getting in; but as soon as he came to the wall of the yard, which was not very high, he discovered the game that was being played with his squire. He saw him rising and falling in the air with such grace and nimbleness that, had his rage allowed him, it is my belief he would have laughed. He tried to climb from his horse on to the top of the wall, but he was so bruised and battered that he could not even dismount; and so from the back of his horse he began to utter such maledictions and objurgations against those who were blanketing Sancho as it would be impossible to write down accurately: they, however, did not stay their laughter or their work for this, nor did the flying Sancho cease his lamentations, mingled now with threats, now with entreaties but all to little purpose, or none at all, until from pure weariness they left off. They then brought him his ass, and mounting him on top of it they put his jacket round him; and the compassionate Maritornes, seeing him so exhausted, thought fit to refresh him with a jug of water, and that it might be all the cooler she fetched it from the well. Sancho took it, and as he was raising it to his mouth he was stopped by the cries of his master exclaiming, “Sancho, my son, drink not water; drink it not, my son, for it will kill thee; see, here I have the blessed balsam (and he held up the flask of liquor), and with drinking two drops of it thou wilt certainly be restored.”
At these words Sancho turned his eyes asquint, and in a still louder voice said, “Can it be your worship has forgotten that I am not a knight, or do you want me to end by vomiting up what bowels I have left after last night? Keep your liquor in the name of all the devils, and leave me to myself!” and at one and the same instant he left off talking and began drinking; but as at the first sup he perceived it was water he did not care to go on with it, and begged Maritornes to fetch him some wine, which she did with right good will, and paid for it with her own money; for indeed they say of her that, though she was in that line of life, there was some faint and distant resemblance to a Christian about her. When Sancho had done drinking he dug his heels into his ass, and the gate of the inn being thrown open he passed out very well pleased at having paid nothing and carried his point, though it had been at the expense of his usual sureties, his shoulders. It is true that the innkeeper detained his alforjas in payment of what was owing to him, but Sancho took his departure in such a flurry that he never missed them. The innkeeper, as soon as he saw him off, wanted to bar the gate close, but the blanketers would not agree to it, for they were fellows who would not have cared two farthings for Don Quixote, even had he been really one of the knights-errant of the Round Table.
唐吉诃德这个时候已经苏醒过来。他用前一天被人乱棍打倒在谷地时叫桑乔的那种声音叫道：
“桑乔朋友，你睡着了？你睡着了吗，桑乔朋友？”
“就我这样，还睡什么觉啊！”桑乔又怕又恼地说，“好像今天晚上所有的魔鬼都跟我过不去呢。”
“你可以这么想，没问题。”唐吉诃德说，“或者是我见识太少，或者是这座城堡中了邪气，你应该知道……不过你得发誓，对我现在要告诉你的事情绝对保密，直到我死后才能说。”
“我发誓。”桑乔说。
唐吉诃德说：“我这样讲是因为我不想败坏任何人的名声。”
“我发誓，”桑乔又说，“我一定保密，直到有一天您老过世。不过，但愿上帝能让我明天就可以说出去了。”
“我怎么惹你了，”唐吉诃德说，“你竟然希望我这么快就死？”
“那倒不是，”桑乔说，“只是我最讨厌把什么都藏着掖着，把东西都放烂了。”
“不管怎么说，”唐吉诃德说，“你对我敬爱和尊崇，这点我是信得过的。所以，我想让你知道我今晚一次特别的神奇经历。简单地说，就是这个城堡长官的小姐刚才跑来找我，她是世界上最高雅最漂亮的姑娘。我应该怎样形容她的相貌呢？怎样描述她机敏的头脑呢？怎样介绍她那些隐秘之处呢？为了保持对托博索我美丽夫人的忠诚，还是暂且不说吧。我只想对你说，老天看到我这送上门来的艳福都眼红了，或者也许（绝对是也许），是这座城堡中了邪气。我正同她亲密地交谈，不知从何处飞来一个超级巨人的一只手，一拳打在我的下巴上，打得我满嘴是血。昨天由于罗西南多放荡不羁，几个脚夫把咱们揍得够呛，这你知道。可今天我的状况比昨天还糟糕。因此我想，这个漂亮的宝贝姑娘大概是留给某个会魔法的摩尔人的，而不是属于我的。”
“也不属于我。”桑乔说，“曾有四百多个摩尔人追打我，与之相比，这顿棍棒简直不算什么。不过，请您告诉我，大人，现在咱们弄到这种地步，您怎么还说是少有的妙事呢？您好歹还有过一个您说是美丽无比的姑娘；而我呢，除了挨一顿估计是我平生最厉害的毒打外，还得着什么了？我和养育了我的母亲真倒霉呀！我不是游侠骑士，也从未想过要当游侠骑士，可是那么多的厄运却都让我摊上了。”
“你后来也挨打了？”唐吉诃德问。
“我不是对您说过我也挨打了嘛，尽管我不是游侠骑士。”
桑乔说。
“别伤心，朋友，”唐吉诃德说，“我现在就做那种珍贵的圣水，咱们的伤立刻就会好。”
这时，团丁刚刚点燃了油灯，进来看他以为已经死了的人。桑乔见他穿着衬衣，头上裹着布，手里拿着油灯，面目极为丑恶，便问他的主人：
“大人，难道那个再次惩罚我们的摩尔人魔法师就是他吗？”
“不会是摩尔人，”唐吉诃德说，魔法师从来不会让人看见。”
“不让人看见，却让人感觉得到，”桑乔说，“不信，我的背就可以证明这一点。”
“我的肩膀也能证明，”唐吉诃德说，“不过，这还是不能让人相信，能让人看到的这个人就是会魔法的摩尔人。”
团丁走进来，看到唐吉诃德和桑乔正不慌不忙地说话，不禁愕然。唐吉诃德依然躺在那里，动弹不得，浑身是伤，而且涂满了药膏。团丁走过来问他：
“怎么样，大好人？”
“如果我是你，”唐吉诃德说，“说话就会更文明些。蠢货，你常常在这个地方同游侠骑士如此讲话吗？”
团丁看到一个其貌不扬的人竟敢如此对待自己，哪里受得了。他举起装满了油的油灯，向唐吉诃德的脑袋砸去，打得他头晕眼花。四周一片黑暗，团丁走了。
桑乔说：
“毫无疑问，大人，他就是会魔法的摩尔人。好东西都是留给别人的，留给我们的只是遭拳打，遭油灯砸。”
“是的，”唐吉诃德说，“不过，对于魔法这类的事情不必介意，也没什么可生气的，这种东西肉眼看不到，又很离奇，咱们就是再费气力，也不知道该向谁报仇。你要是能站起来，桑乔，就起来去叫这座城堡的要塞司令，想办法弄些油、酒、盐和迷迭香来，做点治伤的圣水。真的，我现在需要它。我被那个魔鬼弄伤的地方流了很多血。”
桑乔忍着筋骨的剧痛站起来，摸黑向店主的方向走去，结果碰上了正打算探听敌情的团丁，便对他说：
“大人，不管您是谁，请您开恩给我们一点儿迷迭香、油、盐和酒吧，好医治世界上一位最优秀的游侠骑士。他被这座客店里的摩尔人魔法师打得很严重，正躺在床上。”
团丁听到这番话，断定这个人精神不正常。既然天已经开始亮了，他就打开客店的们，告诉店主桑乔所需要的东西，店主如数给了桑乔，桑乔把这些东西带给了唐吉诃德。唐吉诃德正捂着被油灯砸伤的脑袋呻吟。其实，他头上不过是被砸起了两个鼓包，他以为头上流了血，其实那只是由于厄运临头流的汗。
最后，唐吉诃德把这些东西混在一起，煮了很长时间，一直煮到他以为到了火候的时候。他又要瓶子盛药，可是客店里没有瓶子，就用铁皮水筒装。店主送给他一个水筒。唐吉诃德对着水筒念了八十遍天主经，又说了八十遍万福玛利亚、圣母颂和信经。每念一遍，他都划个十字，表示祝福。桑乔、店主和团丁一直都在场，而脚夫却已悄悄去照料他的骡子了。
唐吉诃德想试试熬出的圣水是否有他想象的那种效力，就把剩在锅里的近半升的水喝了下去。刚喝完，他就开始呕吐，把胃里的东西吐得一干二净，直吐得浑身大汗淋漓，只好让大家给他盖好被，一个人躺在床上。被子盖好后，他睡了三个多小时。醒来后他觉得身体轻松极了，身上也不疼了，以为自己已经好了，并且深信自己制成了菲耶拉布拉斯圣水，从此不用再惧怕任何战斗了，无论它们有多么危险。
桑乔也觉得主人身体好转是个奇迹。他请求唐吉诃德把锅里剩下的那些水都给他。锅里还剩了不少，唐吉诃德同意都给他。桑乔双手捧着水，满怀信心、乐不可支地喝进肚里，喝得决不比唐吉诃德少。大概他的胃不像唐吉诃德的胃那么娇气，所以恶心了半天才吐出一口，弄得他浑身是汗，差点晕过去，甚至想到了他会寿终正寝。桑乔难受得厉害，一边咒骂可恶的圣水，一边诅咒给他圣水的混蛋。唐吉诃德看到他这个样子，就对他说：
“桑乔，我觉得你这么难受，完全是由于你还没有被封为骑士。依我看，没有被封为骑士的人不该喝这种水。”
“既然您知道这些，”桑乔说，“为什么还让我喝呢？真是倒了八辈子霉！”
这时圣水开始起作用了。可怜的桑乔马上开始上吐下泻。他刚才已经躺到了草席上，结果弄得床上和他盖的麻布被单上都有秽物。他的汗越出越多，越出越厉害，不仅他自己，连在场的人都认为他的生命这次到头了。这样足足折腾了两个小时，结果却不像主人那样，只觉得浑身疼痛难忍，骨头像散了架。前面说到唐吉诃德感觉身上轻松了，已经康复了，就想马上离开，再去征险，觉得他在这里耽搁，整个世界和世界上所有需要他帮助和保护的穷人就失掉了他。而且，他对自己带的圣水信心十足，他受这种愿望驱使，自己为罗西南多和桑乔的驴上了驮鞍，又帮助桑乔穿好衣服，扶他上驴。唐吉诃德骑上马，来到客店的一个墙角，拿起一支短剑权当长枪。
当时客店里足有二十多人，大家都看着唐吉诃德，店主的女儿也看着他，唐吉诃德同样地盯着店主的女儿，不时还深深地叹口气。大家想，大概是他的背还在痛，至少那天晚上看见他浑身涂满了药膏的人都是这么想的。
两人在客店门前骑上了马。唐吉诃德又叫店主，声音极其平缓和沉重，对店主说：
“在此城堡里承蒙您盛情款待，要塞司令大人，我终生感激不尽。作为报答，假如有某个巨人对您有所冒犯，我定会为您报仇。您知道，我的职业就是扶弱济贫，惩治恶人，请您记住，如果您遇到了我说的这类事情，一定要告诉我。
“我以骑士的名义保证，替您报仇，而且让您满意。”
店主也心平气和地说：
“骑士大人，我没有受到什么侵犯需要您为我报仇。如果有必要的话，我自己会去报仇的。我只需要您为今晚您的两匹牲口在客店里所用的草料，以及您二位的晚餐和床位付款。”
“难道这是个客店？”唐吉诃德问。
“是啊，而且是个很正规的客店。”店主说。
“我被欺骗了，”唐吉诃德悦，“以前我真的以为这是座城堡，而且是座不错的城堡。既然这不是城堡，而是客店，现在能做的只是请您把这笔帐目勾销。我不能违反游侠骑士的规则。我知道，游侠骑士无论在什么地方住旅馆或客店都从来不付钱，我从来没有在哪本书上看到他们付钱的事。作为回报，他们有权享受周到的款待。他们受苦受累，无论冬夏都步行或骑马，忍饥挨俄，顶严寒，冒酷暑，遭受着各种恶劣天气和世间各种挫折的袭扰，日夜到处征险。”
“我与此没什么关系。”店主说，“把欠我的钱付给我，别讲什么骑士的事了。我只知道收我的帐。”
“你真是个愚蠢卑鄙的店主。”唐吉诃德说。
唐吉诃德双腿一夹罗西南多，提着他那支短剑出了客店，没有人拦他。他也没有看桑乔是否跟上了他，便走出好远。店主看唐吉诃德走了，没有结帐，就向桑乔要钱。桑乔说，既然他的主人不愿意付钱，他也不打算付。他是游侠骑士的侍从，所以住客店不付钱的规则对他和他的主人都是一样的。店主愤怒极了，威胁说如果他不付帐，就不会有好果子吃。桑乔对此的回答是，按照他主人承认的骑士规则，他即使丢了性命，也不会付一分钱的。他不能为了自己而丧失游侠骑士多年的优良传统，也不能让后世的游侠骑士侍从埋怨他，指责他破坏了他们的正当权利。
真该桑乔倒霉。客店的人群里有四个塞哥维亚的拉绒匠、三个科尔多瓦波特罗的针贩子和两个塞维利亚博览会附近的居民。这些人生性活泼，并无恶意，却喜欢恶作剧、开玩笑。他们不约而同地来到桑乔面前，把他从驴上拉下来。其中一个人到房间里拿出了被单，大家把桑乔扔到被单上，可抬头一看，屋顶不够高，便商定把桑乔抬到院子里，往上抛。他们把桑乔放在被单中，开始向上抛，就像狂欢节时耍狗那样拿桑乔开心。
可怜桑乔的叫喊声传得很远，一直传到了唐吉诃德的耳朵里。他停下来仔细听了一下，以为又是什么新的险情，最后才听清楚是桑乔的叫喊声。他掉转缰绳，催马回到客店门前，只见门锁着。他转了一圈，看看有什么地方可以进去。院墙并不高，还没到院墙边，他就看见了里边的人对桑乔的恶作剧。他看到桑乔在空中一上一下地飞舞，既滑稽又好笑。要不是因为当时他正怒气冲冲，准会笑出声来。唐吉诃德试着从马背往墙头上爬，可浑身疼得要散了架，连下马都不行。他开始在马背上诅咒那些扔桑乔的人，用词十分难听，很难准确地在此表述。不过，院里的笑声和恶作剧并没有因为唐吉诃德的诅咒而停止。桑乔仍叫唤不停，同进还能听见他的恫吓声和求饶声。可是求饶也没有用，那些人一直闹到累了才住手。他们牵来驴，把桑乔扶上去，给他披上外衣。富于同情心的女仆看到桑乔已精疲力竭，觉得应该给他一罐水帮帮他。井里的水最凉，她就从井里打来一罐水。桑乔接过罐子，刚送到嘴边，就听见唐吉诃德对他喊：
“桑乔，别喝那水。孩子，别喝那水，会要了你的命的。你没看到我这儿有圣水吗？”唐吉诃德说着晃了一下铁筒，“你只须喝两口就会好的。”
桑乔循场转过头去，因为是斜视，桑乔的声音竟比唐吉诃德的声音还要大，喊道：
“您大概忘了我不是骑士，要不就是想让我把昨天晚上肚子里剩下的那点东西全吐掉？把您那见鬼的圣水收起来，饶了我吧。”
桑乔说完就赶紧喝起来，但一喝是井水，他又不想再喝了。他请求女仆给他拿点酒来。女仆很高兴地给他拿来了酒，这酒是她自己掏钱买的。据说她虽然是干那种事的人，可毕竟还有点基督徒的味道。桑乔喝完酒，脚后跟夹了一下驴。客店的门已经打开，桑乔出了门。他到底没有付房钱，最后还是得听他的，所以心里很高兴，尽管替他还帐的是他的后背。
实际上，店主把桑乔的褡裢扣下抵帐了。桑乔慌慌张张地出了门，并没有发现褡裢丢了。店主看到桑乔出了门，想赶紧把门闩上。可是，刚才扔桑乔的那些人却不以为然。他们觉得唐吉诃德即使真是圆桌骑士，也一文不值。