The old woman soon came back supporting with some difficulty a veiled and bejewelled lady of magestic build, who trembled as she drew near.
‘Pull the veil aside,’ said the old woman to Candide.
The young man approached, and timidly lifted the veil. He had the surprise of his life, for to his astonished gaze it seemed that Lady Cunégonde stood before him. And so, in fact, she did. Candide’s strength left him, and he fell at her feet unable to speak a word. Cunégonde, too, was equally affected, and sank on to the couch. The old woman took some rose-water and sprinkled it over them. This brought them to their senses and they began to speak. Broken words came first, then half-uttered questions and answers, followed by sighs, tears and groans. Seeing them well on the way to recovery, the old woman left them to themselves, advising them to make as little noise as possible.
‘Can this really be Cunégonde?’ cried Candide. ‘You are still alive, then? … To think that I should find you in Portugal! … So you weren’t ravished or disembowelled, as the learned Pangloss assured me?’
‘I was indeed,’ said the lovely Cunégonde, ‘but people don’t always die of those mishaps.’
—Voltaire