Don Quixote rode on, glad and proud. Having beaten the Knight of Mirrors, he felt he had become the bravest knight-errant of his age. He forgot the countless beatings he had taken, the stone that knocked out half his teeth, the ingratitude of the galley convicts. If only he found a way to break Dulcinea’s enchantment, he would envy no knight of old his good fortune.
Then Sancho spoke. “Master, isn’t it funny? I can still see my compadre Tomé Cecial’s monstrous nose in front of my eyes.”
“So, Sancho, you believe the Knight of Mirrors was really the bachelor Carrasco, and that your compadre Tomé Cecial served as his squire?”