“Miss Cunégonde,” said he, “is to do me the honour to marry me, and we beseech your excellency to deign to sanction our marriage.”
Don Fernando d’Ibaraa, y Figueora, y Mascarenes, y Lampourdos, y Souza, turning up his moustachios, smiled mockingly, and ordered Captain Candide to go and review his company. Candide obeyed, and the Governor remained alone with Miss Cunégonde. He declared his passion, protesting he would marry her the next day in the face of the church, or otherwise, just as should be agreeable to herself. Cunégonde asked a quarter of an hour to consider of it, to consult the old woman, and to take her resolution.
The old woman spoke thus to Cunégonde:
“Miss, you have seventy-two quarterings, and not a farthing; it is now in your power to be wife to the greatest lord in South America, who has very beautiful moustachios. Is it for you to pique yourself upon inviolable fidelity? You have been ravished by Bulgarians; a Jew and an Inquisitor have enjoyed your favours. Misfortune gives sufficient excuse. I own, that if I were in your place, I should have no scruple in marrying the Governor and in making the fortune of Captain Candide.”
While the old woman spoke with all the prudence which age and experience gave, a small ship entered the port on board of which were an Alcalde and his alguazils , and this was what had happened.
As the old woman had shrewdly guessed, it was a Grey Friar who stole Cunégonde’s money and jewels in the town of Badajos, when she and Candide were escaping. The Friar wanted to sell some of the diamonds to a jeweller; the jeweller knew them to be the Grand Inquisitor’s. The Friar before he was hanged confessed he had stolen them. He described the persons, and the route they had taken. The flight of Cunégonde and Candide was already known. They were traced to Cadiz. A vessel was immediately sent in pursuit of them. The vessel was already in the port