he parade just after celebrating mass," answered the
sergeant, "and you cannot kiss his spurs till three hours hence."

"However," said Cacambo, "the captain is not a Spaniard, but a German,
he is ready to perish with hunger as well as myself; cannot we have
something for breakfast, while we wait for his reverence?"

The sergeant went immediately to acquaint the Commandant with what he
had heard.

"God be praised!" said the reverend Commandant, "since he is a German, I
may speak to him; take him to my arbour."

Candide was at once conducted to a beautiful summer-house, ornamented
with a very pretty colonnade of green and gold marble, and with
trellises, enclosing parraquets, humming-birds, fly-birds, guinea-hens,
and all other rare birds. An excellent breakfast was provided in vessels
of gold; and while the Paraguayans were eating maize out of wooden
dishes, in the open fields and exposed to the heat of the sun, the
reverend Father Commandant retired to his arbour.

He was a very handsome young man, with a full face, white skin but high
in colour; he had an arched eyebrow, a lively eye, red ears, vermilion
lips, a bold air, but such a boldness as neither belonged to a Spaniard
nor a Jesuit. They returned their arms to Candide and Cacambo, and also
the two Andalusian horses; to whom Cacambo gave some oats to eat just by
the arbour, having an eye upon them all the while for fear of a
surprise.

Candide first kissed the hem of the Commandant's robe, then they sat
down to table.

"You are, then, a German?" said the Jesuit to him in that language.

"Yes, reverend Father," answered Candide.

As they pronounced these words they looked at each other with great
amazement, and with such an emotion as they could not conceal.

"And from what part of Germany do you come?" said the Jesuit.

"I am from the dirty province of Westphalia," answered Candide; "I was
born in the Castle of Thunder-ten-Tronckh."

"Oh! Heavens! is it possible?" cried the Commandant.

"What a miracle!" cried Candide.

"Is it really you?" said the Commandant.

"It is not possible!" said Candide.

They drew back; they embraced; they shed rivulets of tears.

"What, is it you, reverend Father? You, the brother of the fair
Cunegonde! You, that was slain by the Bulgarians! You, the Baron's son!
You, a Jesuit in Paraguay! I must confess this is a strange world that
we live in. Oh, Pangloss! Pangloss! how glad you would be if you had not
been hange