What a singular being he would appear in any human society! A new Quixote among so many Sanchos! Having to condemn the greed of this one, the vanity of that, the good fortune of this other, the uncontrolled appetites of another, and the frailties of all; in his own family, like the Knight Errant's housekeeper and niece; in his own friends not differing from the priest, the barber, and Samson Carrasco. And strong men and maidens, dukes and inn-keepers, Moors and Christians with one voice declaring him mad, until he himself should end by taking himself as such, or dying, feign to think so, that at least he might be left to die in peace.
Dr. Tomás. [Approaches Lorenzo, and places an arm on his shoulder. Doña Ángela also comes near.] Lorenzo!
Don Lorenzo. [Turning round.] Tomás!—Ángela!—you were here?
Dr. Tomás. Yes; we were listening to part of your philosophical monologue. What has provoked these sublime self-revealings of my good friend?
Don Lorenzo. I have been reading Don Quixote, and it has gone to my head, and there got mixed with the other tags of modern philosophy which are floating about, as my hard-hearted doctor would say, in the cells of grey substance.
Dr. Tomás. So would anybody else say who wished to talk the language of reason.
Doña Ángela. How dreadful! Are you two going to begin one of your interminable discussions on positivism, idealism, and all the other isms of the dictionary, which are so many abysses for common sense?
Dr. Tomás. Don't be afraid, madam. I have something more interesting to say to Lorenzo.
Don Lorenzo. [To Dr. Tomás.] And I have also something more urgent to ask you.
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