"Yes, they did," said the beautiful Cunegonde; "but those two accidents are not always mortal." "But were your father and mother killed?" "It is but too true," answered Cunegonde, in tears. "And your brother?" "My brother also was killed." "And why are you in Portugal? and how did you know of my being here? and by what strange adventure did you contrive to bring me to this house?" "I will tell you all that," replied the lady, "but first of all let me know your history, since the innocent kiss you gave me and the kicks which you received." Candide respectfully obeyed her, and though he was still in a surprise, though his voice was feeble and trembling, though his back still pained him, yet he gave her a most ingenuous account of everything that had befallen him since the moment of their separation. Cunegonde lifted up her eyes to heaven; shed tears upon hearing of the death of the good Anabaptist and of Pangloss; after which she spoke as follows to Candide, who did not lose a word and devoured her with his eyes. VIII THE HISTORY OF CUNEGONDE. "I was in bed and fast asleep when it pleased God to send the Bulgarians to our delightful castle of Thunder-ten-Tronckh; they slew my father and brother, and cut my mother in pieces. A tall Bulgarian, six feet high, perceiving that I had fainted away at this sight, began to ravish me; this made me recover; I regained my senses, I cried, I struggled, I bit, I scratched, I wanted to tear out the tall Bulgarian's eyes--not knowing that what happened at my father's house was the usual practice of war. The brute gave me a cut in the left side with his hanger, and the mark is still upon me." "Ah! I hope I shall see it," said honest Candide. "You shall," said Cunegonde, "but let us continue." "Do so," replied Candide. Thus she resumed the thread of her story: