They stared at one another, wondering at Don Quixote’s words, and though in doubt they were inclined to believe him.  And one of the signs by which they conjectured that he would die was his having changed so quickly from a madman to a sane person; for to the words already said he added many others so well spoken, so Christian, and so connected that they came, withal, to lose their doubts and to believe that he was sane.  The curate made all the people leave the room, and stayed alone with him and confessed him.  The bachelor went for the scrivener, and presently returned with him and with Sancho Panza, who, being informed by the bachelor in what state his master was, and finding the housekeeper and the niece in tears, began to make wry faces and fall a-crying.  The confession was ended and the curate came out saying, “Certainly about to die and certainly in his senses is Alonso Quixano the Good; we had best go in, that he may make his will.”  These tidings were a terrible blow to the swollen eyes of the housekeeper, the niece, and Sancho Panza, his good squire, so that it made the tears burst out of their eyes, and a thousand profound sighs from their hearts; for indeed, as on some occasion has been observed, whilst Don Quixote was plain Alonso Quixano the Good, and whilst he was Don Quixote de la Mancha, he was ever of pleasant humor and agreeable behavior, and therefore he was beloved not only by his family, but by every one that knew him.

The scrivener, with the rest, went in, and after he had made the preamble of the will, and Don Quixote had disposed of his soul with all those Christian circumstances that are requisite, he came to the legacies, and said:—­

“Item, it is my will that of certain moneys that Sancho Panza (whom in my madness I made my squire) holds, inasmuch as there have been between him and me certain accounts, both payments and receipts, there shall be no charge made, nor account demanded of him; but that if any shall remain over after he has paid himself what I owe him, the residue shall be his; it can be but small, and may it do him much good.  And if, when I was mad, I was a party to making him governor of the island, I would now, in my right senses, give him the government of a kingdom, were it in my power, for the simplicity of his disposition and the fidelity of his character deserve it.”  And turning to Sancho he said, “Pardon me, my friend, that I have given thee occasion to appear mad like myself, making thee fall into the error in which I fell that there have been and are knights-errant in the world.”—­“Woe’s me!” replied Sancho, all in tears, “do not die, dear master, but take my counsel, and live on a many years; the maddest thing a man can do in this life is to let himself die without any more ado, without being killed by anybody or finished by any other hands but those of melancholy.  See you do not be slothful, but get up from this bed, and let us be off to the fields in our shepherd’s clothing, as we had