I promised the old gentleman I would remember what he desired, and he retired contented. At this moment a young woman coming up to me, fell upon my neck, exclaiming, “My dear Æneas, have you at length arrived! I have for a long time wished to see you. Virgil hath spoken very illy of you: he has published a history of our loves, which we knew nothing of: I have sought you among all the dead, without being able to find you; but I know, from your air, that you are Æneas; for, as you have been the greatest and most illustrious of heroes, so here you surpass all the dead in demeanour and beauty.” As the surprise I felt at this unmerited compliment prevented answer, she continued to speak, and embraced me so vehemently, that I was compelled to cry out. “Peace, there!” commanded the officer of the chamber, who was called _Silence_. I still continued to bawl out; and said to Madame Dido, “O Queen of Carthage! will you not be undeceived? I am Don Francisco de Quevedo de Villegas, Chevalier of the order of Saint James!” “Behold!” replied the queen, “behold this drunkard, who, being a Trojan, would fain pass himself off for a Spaniard! Go, pious Æneas; Virgil hath done thee no great wrong in describing thee as thou art. Where is thy Palladium? thy nurse? thy son Ascanias? where are thy companions? why are you here without attendants?” “Be not disquieted,” said I: “address yourself to Charon; he would know you as well as Æneas, who abandoned you in Africa; that was a meet punishment for your prudery: but you have not yet been able to forget a man, who surrendered his native city to the Greeks, and fled from his ruined country. You are a victim of love!” “And you,” said she, retiring, “are very credulous!” The officer again commanded silence, and before I had time to add any thing more, I saw approaching a dead person of great size, with horns upon his head, and who ran towards me as though he was going to strike with them. I stretched out my arms to defend myself, and perceiving near me a large fork, that supported the tapestry, I took it in my hand, and firmly awaited his onset. “Do you recognize,” said he, “Don Diego Moreno, whom you have called in your poems Signor Cornuto?” “Yes,” replied I; “and to convince you, that I neither fear you, living nor dead, take in advance a blow with this fork;” and at that endeavoured to run him through, but his bones were too hard. Moreno then gave me a blow with his head, and casting himself upon me, threw me down: I stuck to his sides, inserting my fingers into the openings beneath the sternum, and as he arose, came up with him. This noise causing considerable confusion in the assembly, I saw coming upon me, a great number of the dead, armed in the same manner with Moreno; and as they pressed upon one another, each anxious to pass his neighbour, their bones made a very curious clicking. In the mean time, others marshalled themselves in front, to protect me from their assault.