The abbe took part with him in his uneasiness; he had but an
inconsiderable share in the thousand pieces Candide had lost at
play, and the two diamonds which had been in a manner extorted from
him; and therefore very prudently designed to make the most he could
of his new acquaintance, which chance had thrown in his way. He talked
much of Miss Cunegund, and Candide assured him that he would
heartily ask pardon of that fair one for his infidelity to her, when
he saw her at Venice.
The abbe redoubled his civilities and seemed to interest himself
warmly in everything that Candide said, did, or seemed inclined to do.
"And so, sir, you have an engagement at Venice?"
"Yes, Monsieur l'Abbe," answered Candide, "I must absolutely wait
upon Miss Cunegund," and then the pleasure he took in talking about
the object he loved, led him insensibly to relate, according to
custom, part of his adventures with that illustrious Westphalian
beauty.
"I fancy," said the abbe, "Miss Cunegund has a great deal of wit,
and that her letters must be very entertaining."
"I never received any from her," said Candide; "for you are to
consider that, being expelled from the castle upon her account, I
could not write to her, especially as soon after my departure I
heard she was dead; but thank God I found afterwards she was living.
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