In the midst of these transports in came an officer, followed by the Abbé and a file of soldiers.
“There,” said he, “are the two suspected foreigners,” and at the same time he ordered them to be seized and carried to prison.
“Travellers are not treated thus in El Dorado,” said Candide.
“I am more a Manichean now than ever,” said Martin.
“But pray, sir, where are you going to carry us?” said Candide.
“To a dungeon,” answered the officer.
Martin, having recovered himself a little, judged that the lady who acted the part of Cunégonde was a cheat, that the Perigordian Abbé was a knave who had imposed upon the honest simplicity of Candide, and that the officer was another knave whom they might easily silence.
Candide, advised by Martin and impatient to see the real Cunégonde, rather than expose himself before a court of justice, proposed to the officer to give him three small diamonds, each worth about three thousand pistoles.
“Ah, sir,” said the man with the ivory baton, “had you committed all the imaginable crimes you would be to me the most honest man in the world. Three diamonds! Each worth three thousand pistoles! Sir, instead of carrying you to jail I would lose my life to serve you. There are orders for arresting all foreigners, but leave it to me. I have a brother at Dieppe in Normandy! I’ll conduct you thither, and if you have a diamond to give him he’ll take as much care of you as I would.”
“And why,” said Candide, “should all foreigners be arrested?”
“It is,” the Perigordian Abbé then made answer, “because a poor beggar of the country of Atrébatie heard some foolish things said. This induced