Martin said to him, "Upon my word, I think you are very simple to
imagine that a rascally valet, with five or six millions in his
pocket, would go in search of your mistress to the further of the
world, and bring her to Venice to meet you. If he finds her he will
take her for himself; if he does not, he will take another. Let me
advise you to forget your valet Cacambo, and your mistress Cunegund."
Martin's speech was not the most consolatory to the dejected
Candide. His melancholy increased, and Martin never ceased trying to
prove to him that there is very little virtue or happiness in this
world; except, perhaps, in El Dorado, where hardly anybody can gain
admittance.
While they were disputing on this important subject, and still
expecting Miss Cunegund, Candide perceived a young Theatin friar in
the Piazza San Marco, with a girl under his arm. The Theatin looked
fresh-colored, plump, and vigorous; his eyes sparkled; his air and
gait were bold and lofty. The girl was pretty, and was singing a song;
and every now and then gave her Theatin an amorous ogle and wantonly
pinched his ruddy cheeks.
"You will at least allow," said Candide to Martin, "that these two
are happy. Hitherto I have met with none but unfortunate people in the
whole habitable globe, except in El Dorado; but as to this couple, I
would venture to lay a wager they are happy.
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