Chapter 7 — the old woman, the lifted veil

Candide does not take courage but he follows the old woman to a run-down house, where she gives him a jar of ointment for his wounds, shows him a clean little bed with a suit of clothes hanging beside it, and leaves him food and drink. Candide eats and sleeps. The next morning she returns with breakfast. The day after, the same routine. He asks who she is. She does not answer. She returns in the evening with no supper and tells him to come and say nothing.

She walks with him about a quarter of a mile out into the country. They reach an isolated house surrounded by gardens and canals. She knocks at a small door. It opens. She leads him up a private staircase to a small richly furnished apartment. She seats him on a brocaded sofa, shuts the door, and leaves him there. Candide thinks he is dreaming; he thinks, in fact, that he has been dreaming unluckily all his life and that this present moment is the only agreeable part of it.

The old woman returns very soon, helping a trembling lady of majestic figure into the room — glittering with jewels, covered with a veil. Take off the veil, the old woman says. The young man approaches; with a timid hand he lifts the veil. He thinks he sees Cunégonde — he really sees her — it is she. His strength fails him; he drops at her feet. She falls onto the sofa. The old woman produces a bottle of smelling salts. They begin to recover their speech, with broken words, with questions and answers interrupted by sighs, tears, cries. The old woman asks them to make less noise, and leaves them. Cunégonde is alive. Pangloss had been wrong about her, as he had been wrong about everything.