Phileas Fogg Never Has to Repeat His Orders to Passepartout

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.

The people living on Saville Row would have been surprised the next day if told that Phileas Fogg had returned home. His doors and windows were still closed. Nothing appeared to have changed.

After leaving the station, Mr. Fogg gave Passepartout instructions to purchase some provisions, and quietly went to his domicile.

After leaving the station, Mr. Fogg told Passepartout to buy some supplies. Then he quietly went home.

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.

He faced his misfortune with his usual calm. Ruined! And all because of the detective’s blunder! He had steadily made that long journey, overcome a hundred obstacles, and faced many dangers. He had even found time to do some good along the way. Yet he had failed so close to his goal because of a sudden event he could neither foresee nor guard against. It was terrible! Only a few pounds remained of the large sum he had taken with him. All that remained of his fortune was the twenty thousand pounds deposited at Barings, and he owed that money to his friends at the Reform Club. His journey had cost so much that even if he had won, he would not have grown richer. And he probably had not intended to grow richer, since he placed wagers more for honor than for the prize. But this wager completely ruined him.

Mr. Fogg’s course, however, was fully decided upon; he knew what remained for him to do.

However, Mr. Fogg had fully decided on his course. He knew what he still had 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.

A room was set aside for Aouda in the house on Saville Row. She was overwhelmed with grief at her protector’s misfortune. From what Mr. Fogg said, she could tell he was considering some serious plan.

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.

Passepartout knew that Englishmen obsessed with a single idea sometimes resorted to the desperate measure of suicide. So he kept a close watch on his master, though he took care not to let it show.

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.

First, the good fellow went up to his room and turned off the gas burner. It had been burning for eighty days. He had found a bill from the gas company in the letterbox. He thought it was high time to stop the expense he was doomed to pay.

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.

The night passed. Mr. Fogg went to bed, but did he sleep? Aouda did not sleep at all. Passepartout kept watch all night at his master’s door, like a faithful dog.

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.

Mr. Fogg called him in the morning and told him to get breakfast for Aouda. He also asked for a cup of tea and a chop for himself. He asked Aouda to excuse him from breakfast and dinner because he would spend all day putting his affairs in order. He would ask permission to speak with the young lady for a few moments that evening.

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 had received his orders, and he could only obey them. He looked at his unshakable master and could hardly bring himself to leave him. His heart was heavy, and remorse tormented him. More than ever, he blamed himself for the disaster that could not be undone. Yes! If he had warned Mr. Fogg and revealed Fix’s plans, his master certainly would not have given the detective passage to Liverpool, and then...

Passepartout could hold in no longer.

Passepartout could no longer hold back.

“My master! Mr. Fogg!” he cried, “why do you not curse me? It was my fault that—”

“My master! Mr. Fogg!” he cried. “Why don’t you curse me? It was my fault that...”

“I blame no one,” returned Phileas Fogg, with perfect calmness. “Go!”

“I don't blame anyone,” Phileas Fogg replied, perfectly calmly. “Go!”

Passepartout left the room, and went to find Aouda, to whom he delivered his master’s message.

Passepartout left the room and went to find Aouda. He gave her his master's message.

“Madam,” he added, “I can do nothing myself—nothing! I have no influence over my master; but you, perhaps—”

“Ma’am,” he added, “I can do nothing myself. Nothing! I have no influence over my master. But perhaps you…”

“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?”

“What influence could I have?” Aouda replied. “No one can influence Mr. Fogg. Has he ever understood how deeply grateful I am to him? Has he ever known how I feel? My friend, he must not be left alone for a moment! You say he is going to speak with me this evening?”

“Yes, madam; probably to arrange for your protection and comfort in England.”

“Yes, ma’am, probably to make sure you are safe and comfortable in England.”

“We shall see,” replied Aouda, becoming suddenly pensive.

“We’ll see,” Aouda replied, suddenly thoughtful.

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.

All that Sunday, the house in Saville Row seemed empty. When the Westminster clock struck half past eleven, Phileas Fogg did not leave for his club. It was the first time he had stayed home at that hour since moving into the house.

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.

Why should he go to the Reform? His friends no longer expected him there. Phileas Fogg had not appeared in the saloon by a quarter to nine the previous evening, Saturday, December 21. So he had lost his bet. He did not even need to go to his bankers for the twenty thousand pounds. His opponents already had his cheque. They only had to fill it out and send it to Barings to have the money transferred to their accounts.

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.

Mr. Fogg had no reason to go out, so he stayed home. He shut himself in his room and set about putting his affairs in order. Passepartout kept going up and down the stairs. The hours dragged for him. He listened at his master’s door and looked through the keyhole, as if he had every right to do so. He acted as if he feared something terrible might happen at any moment. Sometimes he thought of Fix, but he was no longer angry with him. Like everyone else, Fix had been mistaken about Phileas Fogg. He had only done his duty by tracking and arresting him. But Passepartout himself. . . . The thought haunted him, and he never stopped 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.

He felt too miserable to stay alone, so he knocked on Aouda’s door and went into her room. Without speaking, he sat in a corner and looked sadly at the young woman. Aouda was still lost in thought.

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.

At about 7:30 in the evening, Mr. Fogg sent word to ask if Aouda would see him. A few moments later, he was 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.

Phileas Fogg took a chair and sat near the fireplace, opposite Aouda. His face showed no emotion. He had returned exactly as he had left, just as calm and expressionless.

He sat several minutes without speaking; then, bending his eyes on Aouda, “Madam,” said he, “will you pardon me for bringing you to England?”

He sat silently for several minutes. Then he looked at Aouda and said, “Madam, will you forgive me for bringing you to England?”

“I, Mr. Fogg!” replied Aouda, checking the pulsations of her heart.

“Me, Mr. Fogg!” replied Aouda, trying to calm her racing 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.”

“Please let me finish,” replied Mr. Fogg. “When I decided to take you far from the country where you were so unsafe, I was rich. I planned to make part of my fortune available to you so you could live freely and happily. 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?”

“I know, Mr. Fogg,” replied Aouda. “And now I ask you: will you forgive me for following you? Who knows? Perhaps I delayed you and helped bring about 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.”

“Madam, you could not stay in India. The only way to keep you safe was to take you far enough away that your persecutors could not capture 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?”

“So, Mr. Fogg,” Aouda continued, “saving me from a terrible death was not enough for you? You also felt you had to make sure I was comfortable in a foreign country?”

“Yes, madam; but circumstances have been against me. Still, I beg to place the little I have left at your service.”

“Yes, ma’am, but circumstances have been against me. Still, please let me offer you the little I have left.”

“But what will become of you, Mr. Fogg?”

“But what will happen to you, Mr. Fogg?”

“As for me, madam,” replied the gentleman, coldly, “I have need of nothing.”

“I don’t need anything, ma’am,” the gentleman replied coldly.

“But how do you look upon the fate, sir, which awaits you?”

“But how do you feel about the fate that awaits you, sir?”

“As I am in the habit of doing.”

“As I usually do.”

“At least,” said Aouda, “want should not overtake a man like you. Your friends—”

“At least,” said Aouda, “a man like you should not be left in poverty. Your friends...”

“I have no friends, madam.”

“I don't have any friends, ma'am.”

“Your relatives—”

“Your relatives...”

“I have no longer any relatives.”

“I don't have any relatives anymore.”

“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.”

“I feel sorry for you, then, Mr. Fogg, because being alone is sad when you have no one to share your sorrows with. Still, people say that even misery may be borne patiently when two understanding souls share it.”

“They say so, madam.”

“They say so, ma’am.”

“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,” said Aouda, rising and taking his hand, “would you like a relative and a friend in one person? Will you marry me?”

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!”

At this, Mr. Fogg rose too. There was an unusual light in his eyes, and his lips trembled slightly. Aouda looked into his face. Her gentle gaze was sincere, upright, firm, and sweet. She was a noble woman who would dare anything to save the man to whom she owed everything. Her gaze first astonished him, then touched him deeply. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if to avoid her gaze. When he opened them again, he said simply, “I love you! Yes, by all that is holiest, I love you, and I am entirely yours!”

“Ah!” cried Aouda, pressing his hand to her heart.

“Ah!” Aouda cried, 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.

Passepartout was called and came at once. Mr. Fogg was still holding Aouda’s hand. Passepartout understood, and his big, round face became as radiant as the tropical sun at its peak.

Mr. Fogg asked him if it was not too late to notify the Reverend Samuel Wilson, of Marylebone parish, that evening.

Mr. Fogg asked him if it was too late to notify Reverend Samuel Wilson of Marylebone parish that evening.

Passepartout smiled his most genial smile, and said, “Never too late.”

Passepartout gave his warmest smile and said, “Never too late.”

It was five minutes past eight.

It was 8:05.

“Will it be for to-morrow, Monday?”

“Will it be tomorrow, Monday?”

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

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

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

“Yes, for tomorrow, Monday,” she replied.

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

Passepartout ran off as fast as he could.