"Sir, you think doubtless that all is for the best in the moral and physical world, and that nothing could be otherwise than it is?" "I, sir!" answered the scholar, "I know nothing of all that; I find that all goes awry with me; that no one knows either what is his rank, nor what is his condition, what he does nor what he ought to do; and that except supper, which is always gay, and where there appears to be enough concord, all the rest of the time is passed in impertinent quarrels; Jansenist against Molinist, Parliament against the Church, men of letters against men of letters, courtesans against courtesans, financiers against the people, wives against husbands, relatives against relatives--it is eternal war." "I have seen the worst," Candide replied. "But a wise man, who since has had the misfortune to be hanged, taught me that all is marvellously well; these are but the shadows on a beautiful picture." "Your hanged man mocked the world," said Martin. "The shadows are horrible blots." "They are men who make the blots," said Candide, "and they cannot be dispensed with." "It is not their fault then," said Martin. Most of the punters, who understood nothing of this language, drank, and Martin reasoned with the scholar, and Candide related some of his adventures to his hostess. After supper the Marchioness took Candide into her boudoir, and made him sit upon a sofa. "Ah, well!" said she to him, "you love desperately Miss Cunegonde of Thunder-ten-Tronckh?" "Yes, madame," answered Candide. The Marchioness replied to him with a tender smile: "You answer me like a young man from Westphalia. A Frenchman would have said, 'It is true that I have loved Miss Cunegonde, but seeing you, madame, I think I no longer love her.'" "Alas! madame," said Candide, "I will answer you as you wish." "Your passion for her," said the Marchioness, "commenced by picking up her handkerchief. I wish that you would pick up my garter." "With all my heart," said Candide. And he picked it up. "But I wish that you would put it on," said the lady. And Candide put it on. "You see," said she, "you are a foreigner. I sometimes make my Parisian lovers languish for fifteen days, but I give myself to you the first night because one must do the honours of one's country to a young man from Westphalia." The lady having perceived two enormous diamonds upon the hands of the young foreigner praised them with such good faith that from Candide's fingers they passed to her own.