Of a Supper Which Candide and Martin Took with Six Strangers, and Who They Were
One evening that Candide and Martin were going to sit down to supper with some foreigners who lodged in the same inn, a man whose complexion was as black as soot, came behind Candide, and taking him by the arm, said:
“Get yourself ready to go along with us; do not fail.”
Upon this he turned round and saw—Cacambo! Nothing but the sight of Cunégonde could have astonished and delighted him more. He was on the point of going mad with joy. He embraced his dear friend.
“Cunégonde is here, without doubt; where is she? Take me to her that I may die of joy in her company.”
“Cunégonde is not here,” said Cacambo, “she is at Constantinople.”
“Oh, heavens! at Constantinople! But were she in China I would fly thither; let us be off.”
“We shall set out after supper,” replied Cacambo. “I can tell you nothing more; I am a slave, my master awaits me, I must serve him at table; speak not a word, eat, and then get ready.”
Candide, distracted between joy and grief, delighted at seeing his faithful agent again, astonished at finding him a slave, filled with the fresh hope of recovering his mistress, his heart palpitating, his understanding confused, sat down to table with Martin, who saw all these scenes quite unconcerned, and with six strangers who had come to spend the Carnival at Venice.