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Around the World in 80 Days [Junior Edition] by Jules Verne

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this last blow failed to force him into an outward betrayal of
any emotion. Was he being devoured by one of those secret rages,
all the more terrible because contained, and which only burst
forth, with an irresistible force, at the last moment? No one
could tell. There he sat, calmly waiting - for what? Did he still
cherish hope? Did he still believe, now that the door of this
prison was closed upon him, that he would succeed?

However that may have been, Mr. Fogg carefully put his watch upon
the table, and observed its advancing hands. Not a word escaped
his lips, but his look was singularly set and stern. The
situation, in any event, was a terrible one, and might be thus
stated: if Phileas Fogg was honest he was ruined; if he was a
knave, he was caught.

Did escape occur to him? Did he examine to see if there were any
practicable outlet from his prison? Did he think of escaping from
it? Possibly; for once he walked slowly around the room. But the
door was locked, and the window heavily barred with iron rods. He
sat down again, and drew his journal from his pocket. On the line
where these words were written, "21st December, Saturday,
Liverpool," he added, "80th day, 11:40 A.M.," and waited.

The Custom House clock struck one. Mr. Fogg observed that his
watch was two hours too fast.

Two hours! Admitting that he was at this moment taking an express
train, he could reach London and the Reform Club by a quarter
before nine P.M. His forehead slightly wrinkled.

At thirty-three minutes past two he heard a singular noise
outside, then a hasty opening of doors. Passepartout's voice was
audible, and immediately after that of Fix. Phileas Fogg's eyes
brightened for an instant.

The door swung open, and he saw Passepartout, Aouda, and Fix, who
hurried towards him.

Fix was out of breath, and his hair was in disorder. He could not
speak. "Sir," he stammered, "sir - forgive me - a most -
unfortunate resemblance - robber arrested three days ago - you -
are free!"

Phileas Fogg was free! He walked to the detective, looked him
steadily in the face, and with the only rapid motion he had ever
made in his life, or which he ever would make, drew back his
arms, and with the precision of a machine knocked Fix down.

"Well hit!" cried Passepartout. "Parbleu! That's what you might
call a good application of English fists!"

Fix, who found himself on the floor, did not utter a word. He had
only received his deserts. Mr. Fogg, Aouda and Passepartout left
the Custom House without delay, got into a cab, and in a few
moments descended at the station.

Phileas Fogg asked if there was an express train about to leave
for London. It was forty minutes past two. The express train had
left thirty-five minutes before.

Phileas Fogg then ordered a special train.

There were several rapid locomotives on hand, but the railway
arrangements did not permit the special train to leave until
three o'clock.

At that hour Phileas Fogg, having stimulated the engineer by the
offer of a generous reward, at last set out towards London with
Aouda and his faithful servant.

It was necessary to make the journey in five hours and a half.
This would have been easy on a clear road throughout. But there
were forced delays, and when Mr. Fogg stepped from the train at
the terminus, all the clocks in London were striking ten minutes
before nine.1

Having made the tour of the world, he was behind time by five
minutes. He had lost the wager!

1 A somewhat remarkable eccentricity on the part of the London
clocks? Translator.

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
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.

Chapter 36

In Which Phileas Fogg's Name Is Once More
at a Premium on the Market

It is time to relate what a change took place in English public
opinion when it transpired that the real bankrobber, a certain
James Strand, had been arrested, on the 17th day of December, at
Edinburgh. Three days before, Phileas Fogg had been a criminal,
who was being desperately followed up by the police. Now he was
an honorable gentleman, mathematically pursuing his eccentric
journey round the world.

The papers resumed their discussion about the wager. All those
who had laid bets, for or against him, revived their interest. As
if by magic; the "Phileas Fogg bonds" again became negotiable,
and many new wagers were made. Phileas Fogg's name was once more
at a premium on 'Change.

His five friends of the Reform Club passed these three days in a
state of feverish suspense. Would Phileas Fogg, whom they had
forgotten, reappear before their eyes! Where was he at this
moment? The 17th of December, the day of James Strand's arrest,
was the seventy-sixth since Phileas Fogg's departure, and no news
of him had been received. Was he dead? Had he abandoned the
effort, or was he continuing his journey along the route agreed
upon? And would he appear on Saturday, the 21st of December, at a
quarter before nine in the evening, on the threshold of the
Reform Club saloon?

The anxiety in which, for three days, London society existed,
cannot be described. Telegrams were sent to America and Asia for
news of Phileas Fogg. Messengers were despatched to the house in
Saville Row morning and evening. No news. The police were
ignorant what had become of the detective, Fix, who had so
unfortunately followed up a false scent. Bets increased,
nevertheless, in number and value. Phileas Fogg, like a
racehorse, was drawing near his last turning-point. The bonds
were quoted, no longer at a hundred below par, but at twenty, at
ten, and at five; and paralytic old Lord Albemarle bet even in
his favor.

A great crowd was collected in Pall Mall and the neighboring
streets on Saturday evening. It seemed like a multitude of
brokers permanently established around the Reform Club.
Circulation was impeded, and everywhere disputes, discussions and
financial transactions were going on. The police had great
difficulty in keeping back the crowd, and as the hour when
Phileas Fogg was due approached, the excitement rose to its
highest pitch.

The five antagonists of Phileas Fogg had met in the great saloon
of the club. John Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, the bankers,
Andrew Stuart, the engineer, Gauthier Ralph, the director of the
Bank of England and Thomas Flanagan, the brewer, one and all
waited anxiously.

When the clock indicated twenty minutes past eight, Andrew Stuart
got up, saying, "Gentlemen, in twenty minutes the time agreed
upon between Mr. Fogg and ourselves will have expired."

"What time did the last train arrive from Liverpool?" asked
Thomas Flanagan.

"At twenty-three minutes past seven," replied Gauthier Ralph.
"The next does not arrive till ten minutes after twelve."

"Well, gentlemen," resumed Andrew Stuart, "if Phileas Fogg had
come in the 7:23 train, he would have got here by this time. We
can, therefore, regard the bet as won."

"Wait, don't let us be too hasty," replied Samuel Fallentin. "You
know that Mr. Fogg is very eccentric. His punctuality is well
known. He never arrives too soon, or too late; and I should not
be surprised if he appeared before us at the last minute."

"Why," said Andrew Stuart nervously, "if I should see him, I
should not believe it was he."

"The fact is," resumed Thomas Flanagan, "Mr. Fogg's project was
absurdly foolish. Whatever his punctuality, he could not prevent
the delays which were certain to occur; and a delay of only two
or three days would be fatal to his tour."

"Observe, too," added John Sullivan, "that we have received no
intelligence from him, though there are telegraphic lines all
along his route."

"He has lost, gentlemen," said Andrew Stuart, "he has a hundred
times lost! You know, besides, that the China - the only steamer
he could have taken from New York to get here in time - arrived
yesterday. I have seen a list of the passengers, and the name of
Phileas Fogg is not among them. Even if we admit that fortune has
favored him, he can scarcely have reached America. I think he
will be at least twenty days behind-hand, and that Lord
Albemarle will lose a cool five thousand."

"It is clear," replied Gauthier Ralph; "and we have nothing to do
but to present Mr. Fogg's cheque at Barings tomorrow."

At this moment, the hands of the club clock pointed to twenty
minutes to nine.

"Five minutes more," said Andrew Stuart.

The five gentlemen looked at each other. Their anxiety was
becoming intense; but, not wishing to betray it, they readily
assented to Mr. Fallentin's proposal of a rubber.

"I wouldn't give up my four thousand of the bet," said Andrew
Stuart, as he took his seat, "for three thousand nine hundred and
ninety-nine."

The clock indicated eighteen minutes to nine.

The players took up their cards, but could not keep their eyes
off the clock. Certainly, however secure they felt, minutes had
never seemed so long to them!

"Seventeen minutes to nine," said Thomas Flanagan, as he cut the
cards which Ralph handed to him.

Then there was a moment of silence. The great saloon was
perfectly quiet; but the murmurs of the crowd outside were heard,
with now and then a shrill cry. The pendulum beat the seconds,
which each player eagerly counted, as he listened, with
mathematical regularity.

"Sixteen minutes to nine!" said John Sullivan, in a voice which
betrayed his emotion.

One minute more, and the wager would be won. Andrew Stuart and
his partners suspended their game. They left their cards, and
counted the seconds.

At the fortieth second, nothing. At the fiftieth, still nothing.
At the fifty-fifth, a loud cry was heard in the street, followed
by applause, hurrahs and some fierce growls.

The players rose from their seats.

At the fifty-seventh second the door of the saloon opened. The
pendulum had not beat the sixtieth second when Phileas Fogg
appeared, followed by an excited crowd who had forced their way
through the club doors. In his calm voice, Phileas Fogg said,
"Here I am, gentlemen!"

Chapter 37

In Which It Is Shown That Phileas Fogg Gained Nothing
by His Tour around the World Except Happiness

Yes, Phileas Fogg in person.

The reader will remember that at five minutes past eight in the
evening - about five and twenty hours after the arrival of the
travelers in London - Passepartout had been sent by his master to
engage the services of the Reverend Samuel Wilson in a certain
marriage ceremony, which was to take place the next day.

Passepartout went on his errand enchanted. He soon reached the
clergyman's house, but found him not at home. Passepartout
waited a good twenty minutes, and when he left the reverend
gentleman, it was thirty-five minutes past eight. But in what a
state he was! With his hair in disorder, and without his hat, he
ran along the street as never man was seen to run before,
overturning passersby, rushing over the sidewalk like a
waterspout.

In three minutes he was in Saville Row again, and staggered back
into Mr. Fogg's room.

He could not speak.

"What is the matter?" asked Mr. Fogg.

"My master!" gasped Passepartout. "Marriage-impossible -"

"Impossible?"

"Impossible - for tomorrow."

"Why so?"

"Because tomorrow - is Sunday!"

"Monday," replied Mr. Fogg.

"No - today - is Saturday."

"Saturday? Impossible!"

"Yes, yes, yes, yes!" cried Passepartout. "You have made a
mistake of one day! We arrived twenty-four hours ahead of time,
but there are only ten minutes left!"

Passepartout had seized his master by the collar, and was
dragging him along with irresistible force.

Phileas Fogg, thus kidnapped, without having time to think, left
his house, jumped into a cab, promised a hundred pounds to the
cabman, and, having run over two dogs and overturned five
carriages, reached the Reform Club.

The clock indicated a quarter before nine when he appeared in the
great saloon.

Phileas Fogg had accomplished the journey round the world in
eighty days!

Phileas Fogg had won his wager of twenty thousand pounds!

How was it that a man so exact and fastidious could have made
this error of a day? How came he to think that he had arrived in
London on Saturday, the twenty-first day of December, when it was
really Friday, the twentieth, the seventy-ninth day only from his
departure?

The cause of the error is very simple.

Phileas Fogg had, without suspecting it, gained one day on his
journey, and this merely because he had traveled constantly
eastward. He would, on the contrary, have lost a day had he gone
in the opposite direction, that is, westward.

In journeying eastward he had gone towards the sun, and the days
therefore diminished for him as many times four minutes as he
crossed degrees in this direction. There are three hundred and
sixty degrees on the circumference of the earth; and these three
hundred and sixty degrees, multiplied by four minutes, gives
precisely twenty-four hours - that is, the day unconsciously
gained. In other words, while Phileas Fogg, going eastward, saw
the sun pass the meridian eighty times, his friends in London
only saw it pass the meridian seventy-nine times. This is why
they awaited him at the Reform Club on Saturday, and not Sunday.
as Mr. Fogg thought.

And Passepartout's famous family watch, which had always kept
London time, would have betrayed this fact, if it had marked the
days as well as the hours and the minutes!

Phileas Fogg, then, had won the twenty thousand pounds; but, as
he had spent nearly nineteen thousand on the way, the pecuniary
gain was small. His object was, however, to be victorious, and
not to win money. He divided the one thousand pounds that
remained between Passepartout and the unfortunate Fix, against
whom he cherished no grudge. He deducted, however, from
Passepartout's share the cost of the gas which had burned in his
room for nineteen hundred and twenty hours, for the sake of
regularity.

That evening, Mr. Fogg, as tranquil and phlegmatic as ever, said
to Aouda: "Is our marriage still agreeable to you?"

"Mr. Fogg," replied she, "it is for me to ask that question. You
were ruined, but now you are rich again."

"Pardon me, madam. My fortune belongs to you. If you had not
suggested our marriage, my servant would not have gone to the
Reverend Samuel Wilson's, I should not have been informed of my
error, and -"

"Dear Mr. Fogg!" said the young woman.

"Dear Aouda!" replied Phileas Fogg.

It need not be said that the marriage took place forty-eight
hours after, and that Passepartout, glowing and dazzling, gave
the bride away. Had he not saved her, and was he not entitled to
this honor?

The next day, as soon as it was light, Passepartout rapped
vigorously at his master's door. Mr. Fogg opened it, and asked,
"What's the matter, Passepartout?"

"What is it, sir? Why, I've just this instant found out -"

"What?"

"That we might have made the tour of the world in only
seventy-eight days."

"No doubt," returned Mr. Fogg, "by not crossing India. But if I
had not crossed India, I should not have saved Aouda. She would
not have been my wife, and -"

Mr. Fogg quietly shut the door.

Phileas Fogg had won his wager, and had made his journey around
the world in eighty days. To do this he had employed every
means of conveyance - steamers, railways, carriages, yachts,
trading-vessels, sledges, elephants. The eccentric gentleman had
throughout displayed all his marvelous qualifies of coolness and
exactitude. But what then? What had he really gained by all this
trouble? What had he brought back from this long and weary journey?

Nothing, say you? Perhaps so; nothing but a charming woman, who,
strange as it may appear, made him the happiest of men!

Truly, would you not for less than that make the tour around the world?

End of AROUND THE WORLD IN 80 DAYS, Junior Deluxe Edition

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