The Baron could not refrain from embracing Candide; he called him his brother, his saviour.
“Ah! perhaps,” said he, “we shall together, my dear Candide, enter the town as conquerors, and recover my sister Cunégonde.”
“That is all I want,” said Candide, “for I intended to marry her, and I still hope to do so.”
“You insolent!” replied the Baron, “would you have the impudence to marry my sister who has seventy-two quarterings! I find thou hast the most consummate effrontery to dare to mention so presumptuous a design!”
Candide, petrified at this speech, made answer:
“Reverend Father, all the quarterings in the world signify nothing; I rescued your sister from the arms of a Jew and of an Inquisitor; she has great obligations to me, she wishes to marry me; Master Pangloss always told me that all men are equal, and certainly I will marry her.”
“We shall see that, thou scoundrel!” said the Jesuit Baron de Thunder-ten-Tronckh, and that instant struck him across the face with the flat of his sword. Candide in an instant drew his rapier, and plunged it up to the hilt in the Jesuit’s belly; but in pulling it out reeking hot, he burst into tears.
“Good God!” said he, “I have killed my old master, my friend, my brother-in-law! I am the best-natured creature in the world, and yet I have already killed three men, and of these three two were priests.”
Cacambo, who stood sentry by the door of the arbour, ran to him.
“We have nothing more for it than to sell our lives as dearly as we can,” said his master to him, “without doubt someone will soon enter the arbour, and we must die sword in hand.”