Bab Bab 35 · IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG DOES NOT HAVE TO REPEAT HIS ORDERS TO

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 domicile.

He bore his misfortune with his habitual tranquillity. Ruined! And by

the blundering of the detective! After having steadily traversed 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 honour’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 cheque 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 so to do,

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,” said he, “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 to-morrow, Monday?”

“For to-morrow, Monday,” said Mr. Fogg, turning to Aouda.

“Yes; for to-morrow, Monday,” she replied.

Passepartout hurried off as fast as his legs could carry him.