In Which Phileas Fogg Does Not Have to
Repeat His Orders to Passepartout Twice
The dwellers in Saville Row would have been surprised the next
day, if they had been told that Phileas Fogg had returned home.
His doors and windows were still closed. No appearance of change
was visible.
After leaving the station, Mr. Fogg gave Passepartout
instructions to purchase some provisions, and quietly went to his
home.
He bore his misfortune with his habitual tranquillity. Ruined!
And by the blundering of the detective! After having steadily
traveled that long journey, overcome a hundred obstacles, braved
many dangers, and still found time to do some good on his way, to
fail near the goal by a sudden event which he could not have
foreseen, and against which he was unarmed; it was terrible! But
a few pounds were left of the large sum he had carried with him.
There only remained of his fortune the twenty thousand pounds
deposited at Barings, and this amount he owed to his friends of
the Reform Club. So great had been the expense of his tour that,
even had he won, it would not have enriched him; and it is
probable that he had not sought to enrich himself, being a man
who rather laid wagers for honor's sake than for the stake
proposed. But this wager totally ruined him.
Mr. Fogg's course, however, was fully decided upon. He knew what
remained for him to do.
A room in the house in Saville Row was set apart for Aouda, who
was overwhelmed with grief at her protector's misfortune. From
the words which Mr. Fogg dropped, she saw that he was meditating
some serious project.
Knowing that Englishmen governed by a fixed idea sometimes resort
to the desperate expedient of suicide, Passepartout kept a narrow
watch upon his master, though he carefully concealed the
appearance of so doing.
First of all, the worthy fellow had gone up to his room, and had
extinguished the gas burner, which had been burning for eighty
days. He had found in the letter-box a bill from the gas company,
and he thought it more than time to put a stop to this expense,
which he had been doomed to bear.
The night passed. Mr. Fogg went to bed, but did he sleep? Aouda
did not once close her eyes. Passepartout watched all night, like
a faithful dog, at his master's door.
Mr. Fogg called him in the morning, and told him to get Aouda's
breakfast, and a cup of tea and a chop for himself. He desired
Aouda to excuse him from breakfast and dinner, as his time would
be absorbed all day in putting his affairs to rights. In the
evening he would ask permission to have a few moment's
conversation with the young lady.
Passepartout, having received his orders, had nothing to do but
obey them. He looked at his imperturbable master, and could
scarcely bring his mind to leave him. His heart was full, and his
conscience tortured by remorse; for he accused himself more
bitterly than ever of being the cause of the
irretrievable disaster. Yes! if he had warned Mr. Fogg, and had
betrayed Fix's projects to him, his master would certainly not
have given the detective passage to Liverpool, and then--
Passepartout could hold in no longer.
"My master! Mr. Fogg!" he cried. "Why do you not curse me? It was
my fault that--"
"I blame no one," returned Phileas Fogg, with perfect calmness.
"Go!"
Passepartout left the room, and went to find Aouda, to whom he
delivered his master's message.
"Madam," he added, "I can do nothing myself--nothing! I have no
influence over my master; but you, perhaps--"
"What influence could I have?" replied Aouda. "Mr. Fogg is
influenced by no one. Has he ever understood that my gratitude to
him is overflowing? Has he ever read my heart? My friend, he must
not be left alone an instant! You say he is going to speak with
me this evening?"
"Yes, madam, probably to arrange for your protection and comfort
in England."
"We shall see," replied Aouda, becoming suddenly pensive.
Throughout this day (Sunday) the house in Saville Row was as if
uninhabited, and Phileas Fogg, for the first time since he had
lived in that house, did not set out for his club when
Westminster clock struck half-past eleven.
Why should he present himself at the Reform? His friends no
longer expected him there. As Phileas Fogg had not appeared in
the saloon on the evening before (Saturday, the 21st of December,
at a quarter before nine), he had lost his wager. It was not even
necessary that he should go to his bankers for the twenty
thousand pounds; for his antagonists already had his check in
their hands, and they had only to fill it out and send it to the
Barings to have the amount transferred to their credit.
Mr. Fogg, therefore, had no reason for going out, and so he
remained at home. He shut himself up in his room, and busied
himself putting his affairs in order. Passepartout continually
ascended and descended the stairs. The hours were long for him.
He listened at his master's door, and looked through the keyhole,
as if he had a perfect right to do so, and as if he feared that
something terrible might happen at any moment. Sometimes he
thought of Fix, but no longer in anger. Fix, like all the world,
had been mistaken in Phileas Fogg, and had only done his duty in
tracking and arresting him; while he, Passepartout--This thought
haunted him, and he never ceased cursing his miserable folly.
Finding himself too wretched to remain alone, he knocked at
Aouda's door, went into her room, seated himself, without
speaking, in a corner, and looked ruefully at the young woman.
Aouda was still pensive.
About half-past seven in the evening Mr. Fogg sent to know if
Aouda would receive him, and in a few moments he found himself
alone with her.
Phileas Fogg took a chair, and sat down near the fireplace
opposite Aouda. No emotion was visible on his face. Fogg returned
was exactly the Fogg who had gone away. There was the same calm,
the same impassibility.
He sat several minutes without speaking, then, bending his eyes
on Aouda, "Madam," he said, "will you pardon me for bringing you
to England?"
"I, Mr. Fogg!" replied Aouda, checking the pulsations of her
heart.
"Please let me finish," returned Mr. Fogg. "When I decided to
bring you far away from the country which was so unsafe for you,
I was rich, and counted on putting a portion of my fortune at
your disposal. Then your existence would have been free and
happy. But now I am ruined."
"I know it, Mr. Fogg," replied Aouda; "and I ask you in my turn,
will you forgive me for having followed you, and--who knows?--for
having, perhaps, delayed you, and thus contributed to your
ruin?"
"Madam, you could not remain in India, and your safety could only
be assured by bringing you to such a distance that your
persecutors could not take you."
"So, Mr. Fogg," resumed Aouda, "not content with rescuing me from
a terrible death, you thought yourself bound to secure my comfort
in a foreign land?"
"Yes, madam, but circumstances have been against me. Still, I beg
to place the little I have left at your service."
"But what will become of you, Mr. Fogg?"
"As for me, madam," replied the gentleman, coldly, "I have need
of nothing."
"But how do you look upon the fate, sir, which awaits you?"
"As I am in the habit of doing."
"At least," said Aouda, "want should not overtake a man like you.
Your friends--"
"I have no friends, madam."
"Your relatives--"
"I have no longer any relatives."
"I pity you, then, Mr. Fogg, for solitude is a sad thing, with no
heart to which to confide your griefs. They say, though, that
misery itself, shared by two sympathetic souls, may be borne with
patience."
"They say so, madam."
"Mr. Fogg," said Aouda, rising and seizing his hand, "do you wish
at once a kinswoman and friend? Will you have me for your wife?"
Mr. Fogg, at this, rose in his turn. There was an unwonted light
in his eyes, and a slight trembling of his lips. Aouda looked
into his face. The sincerity, rectitude, firmness and sweetness
of this soft glance of a noble woman, who could dare all to save
him to whom she owed all, at first astonished, then penetrated
him. He shut his eyes for an instant, as if to avoid her look.
When he opened them again, "I love you!" he said, simply. "Yes,
by all that is holiest, I love you, and I am entirely yours!"
"Ah!" cried Aouda, pressing his hand to her heart.
Passepartout was summoned and appeared immediately. Mr. Fogg
still held Aouda's hand in his own. Passepartout understood, and
his big, round face became as radiant as the tropical sun at its
zenith.
Mr. Fogg asked him if it was not too late to notify the Reverend
Samuel Wilson, of Marylebone parish, that evening.
Passepartout smiled his most genial smile, and said, "Never too
late."
It was five minutes past eight.
"Will it be for tomorrow, Monday?"
"For tomorrow, Monday," said Mr. Fogg, turning to Aouda.
"Yes, for tomorrow, Monday," she replied.
Passepartout hurried off as fast as his legs could carry him.