After supper, the marquise invited Candide to her boudoir, where, in the course of their conversation, he was properly courteous, but he had his difficulties. The lady told him that now he should no longer love Cunégonde (for he had told her all about her) since he had now seen the marquise. "Your passion for Cunégonde began when you picked up her handkerchief; I want you to pick up my garter." Candide complied and at her further request put it on her. The marquise pointed out that she was according him unusual privileges, for she usually made her lovers languish for two weeks. When she praised the diamonds on his hands, the gallant Candide gave them to her. As he left the house, he was conscious-stricken for having been unfaithful to Cunégonde, and he received the consolations of the abbé. As for the latter, he could have fared better. He had received only a small share of the 50,000 francs Candide had lost at cards and of the diamonds Candide had given to the marquise. But determined to get more at the expense of the youth, he redoubled his amiable attentions. Particularly did he manifest an appreciative interest in Cunégonde. Candide lamented the fact that he had never received a letter from her, whereupon the abbé, having listened attentively, took his leave. Surprisingly enough, on the next morning, Candide did receive a letter from his beloved. She was in Paris! The Governor of Buenos Aires had taken everything, but she still had his heart. When he read that she had been ill, Candide was greatly concerned, torn as he was between inexpressible joy at having heard from her and then learning that she was not well.
Candide and Martin went to the hotel where Cunégonde was supposed to be staying. When the young man tried to draw back the bed curtains and asked for light, he was restrained by the maid. He addressed [the fake] Cunégonde but was informed that she could not speak. The lady behind the curtains did put forth her hand, which Candide bathed in tears and filled with diamonds. Moreover, he left a bag full of gold on the arm chair. At this tender moment, two officers appeared and arrested Candide and Martin on suspicion.
"This isn't the way travelers are treated in Eldorado," said Candide. And Martin declared that he was more a Manichean than ever. The two were taken to a dungeon. Candide provided a bribe of sufficient size to secure their release. "Ah, sir," said one of the officers, "if you'd committed every crime imaginable, you'd still be the most honest man in the world!" But why, asked Candide, were all strangers arrested? The abbé provided the answer. It was all because a beggar from Artois heard some people talking nonsense, which was enough to make him try to commit parricide. Candide was shocked at the monstrosity of the people and was eager to get out of a country where monkeys harassed tigers. He pleaded to be taken to Venice, but the officer's brother, after receiving three diamonds, took them to Portsmouth, England. Candide was not in Venice, to be sure, but he felt that he had been delivered from hell.
Voicing the names of Pangloss, Martin, and his dear Cunégonde, Candide vehemently asked what kind of a world this was. Martin replied that it was something insane and abominable. The English, he continued, had their own type of madness, and he made reference to the war between France and England in America (the French and Indian War). He described the English as being extremely moody and morose.
When they arrived in Portsmouth, the two witnessed the execution of a rather stout man who, blindfolded, knelt on the deck of a naval vessel. Four soldiers each fired three bullets into his head, to the great satisfaction of the large crowd of spectators. Candide learned that the man was an admiral whose crime was that he had not killed enough men, that he had not closed with the French enemy. "Then why was not the French admiral killed?" asked Candide. He was informed that in England it was considered good to kill an admiral now and then "to encourage the others." So shocked was Candide that he immediately arranged passage to Venice. "God be praised," he exclaimed when they arrived in that city. Trusting Cacambo as he did, he was sure that he would see his Cunégonde again and that all would be well.
