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CHAPTER 35
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.
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