upon earth, except perhaps in El Dorado, where nobody could gain admittance.
While they were disputing on this important subject and waiting for Cunégonde, Candide saw a young Theatin friar in St. Mark’s Piazza, holding a girl on his arm. The Theatin looked fresh coloured, plump, and vigorous; his eyes were sparkling, his air assured, his look lofty, and his step bold. The girl was very pretty, and sang; she looked amorously at her Theatin, and from time to time pinched his fat cheeks.
“At least you will allow me,” said Candide to Martin, “that these two are happy. Hitherto I have met with none but unfortunate people in the whole habitable globe, except in El Dorado; but as to this pair, I would venture to lay a wager that they are very happy.”
“I lay you they are not,” said Martin.
“We need only ask them to dine with us,” said Candide, “and you will see whether I am mistaken.”
Immediately he accosted them, presented his compliments, and invited them to his inn to eat some macaroni, with Lombard partridges, and caviar, and to drink some Montepulciano, Lachrymæ Christi, Cyprus and Samos wine. The girl blushed, the Theatin accepted the invitation and she followed him, casting her eyes on Candide with confusion and surprise, and dropping a few tears. No sooner had she set foot in Candide’s apartment than she cried out:
“Ah! Mr. Candide does not know Paquette again.”
Candide had not viewed her as yet with attention, his thoughts being entirely taken up with Cunégonde; but recollecting her as she spoke.
“Alas!” said he, “my poor child, it is you who reduced Doctor Pangloss to the beautiful condition in which I saw him?”