# Works of Jules Verne/Round the World in Eighty Days/Chapter 35

CHAPTER XXXV IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT DOES NOT HAVE REPEATED TO HIM TWICE THE ORDER HIS MASTER GIVES HIM
The next day the residents of Saville Row would have been much surprised, if they had been told that Phileas Fogg had returned to his dwelling. The doors and windows were all closed. No change had taken place outside.
After leaving the depot Phileas Fogg gave Passepartout an order to buy some provisions, and he had gone into his house.
This gentleman received with his habitual impassibility the blow which struck him. Ruined! and by the fault of that awkward detective! After moving on with steady step during this long trip, overturning a thousand obstacles, braving a thousand dangers, and having still found time to do some good on his route, to fail before a brutal act, which he could not foresee, and against which he was defenseless—that was terrible! He had left only an insignificant remnant of the large sum which he had taken away with him when he started on his journey. His fortune now only consisted of the twenty thousand pounds deposited at Baring Brothers, and those twenty thousand pounds he owed to his colleagues of the Reform Club. Having incurred so many expenses, if he had won the bet he would not have been enriched; and, it is probable that he had not sought to enrich himself, being of that class of men who bet for the sake of honor—but this bet lost would ruin him entirely. The gentleman's decision was taken. He knew what remained for him to do.
A room in the house in Saville Row was set apart for Aouda. The young woman was desperate. From certain words which Mr. Fogg let drop, she understood that he contemplated some fatal design.
It is known, indeed, to what lamentable extremities these Englishmen are carried sometimes under the pressure of a fixed idea. Thus, Passepartout, without seeming to do so, was closely watching his master.
But first the good fellow descended to his room and turned off the burner which had been burning for eighty days. He found in the letter box a note from the gas company, and he thought that it was more than time to stop the expenses for which he was responsible.
​The night passed. Mr. Fogg had retired; but had he slept? As for Aouda, she could not take a single moment's rest. Passepartout had watched, like a dog, at his master's door.
The next morning Mr. Fogg sent for him, and ordered him very briefly to prepare Aouda's breakfast. As for himself, he would be satisfied with a cup of tea and a piece of toast. Aouda would be kind enough to excuse him from breakfast and dinner, for all his time would be devoted to arranging his affairs. He would not come down, he would only ask Aouda's permission to have a few moment's conversation with her in the evening.
Passepartout, having been given the programme for the day, had nothing to do but to conform to it. He looked at his master, still so impassible, and he could not make up his mind to quit his room. His heart was full, and his conscience weighed down with remorse, for he accused himself more than ever for this irreparable disaster. Yes if he had warned Mr. Fogg, if he had disclosed to him the plans of the detective Fix, Mr. Fogg would certainly not have dragged the detective Fix with him as far as Liverpool, and then———
Passepartout could not hold in any longer. "My master! Monsieur Fogg!" he cried, "curse me. It is through my fault that———"
"I blame no one," replied Phileas Fogg in the calmest tone. "Go."
Passepartout left the room and went to find the young woman to whom he made know his master's intentions. "Madame," he added, "I can do nothing by myself, nothing at all. I have no influence over my master's mind. You, perhaps———"
"What influence would I have," replied Aouda. "Mr. Fogg is subject to none. Has he ever understood that my gratitude for him was overflowing? Has he ever read my heart? My friend you must not leave him for a single instant. You say that he has shown a desire to speak to me this evening?"
"Yes, madame. It is no doubt with reference to making your position in England comfortable."
"Let us wait," replied the young woman, who was quite pensive.
​Thus, during this day, Sunday, the house in Saville Row was as if uninhabited, and for the first time since he lived there, Phileas Fogg did not go to his club, when the Parliament House clock struck half past eleven.
And why should this gentleman have presented himself at the Reform Club? His colleagues no longer expected him. Since Phileas Fogg did not appear in the saloon of the Reform Club the evening of the day before, on this fatal date, Saturday, December 21, at quarter before nine, his bet was lost. It was not even necessary that he should go to his banker's to draw this sum of twenty thousand pounds. His opponents had in their hands a check signed by him, and it only needed a simple writing to go to Baring Brothers in order that the twenty thousand pounds might be carried to their credit.
Mr. Fogg had then nothing to take him out, and he did not go out. He remained in his room, putting his affairs in order. Passepartout was continually going up and down stairs. The hours did not move for this poor fellow. He listened at the door of his master's room, and in doing so, did not think he committed the least indiscretion. He looked through the keyhole, and imagined that he had this right. Passepartout feared at every moment some catastrophe. Sometimes he thought of Fix, but a change had taken place in his mind. He no longer blamed the detective. Fix had been deceived, like everybody else, with respect to Philas Fogg, and in following him and arresting him he had only done his duty, while he———. This thought overwhelmed him, and he considered himself the most wretched of human beings.
When, finally, Passepartout would be too unhappy to be alone, he would knock at Aouda's door, enter her room, and sit down in a corner without saying a word, and look at the young woman with a pensive air.
About half-post seven in the evening, Phileas Fogg sent to ask Aouda if she could receive him and in a few moments after the young woman and he were alone in the room.
Phileas Fogg took a chair and sat down near the fireplace opposite Aouda. His face reflected no emotion. Fogg returned was exactly the Fogg who had gone away. The same calmness, the same impassibility.
​He remained without speaking for five minutes. Then, raising his eyes to Aouda, he said:
"Madame, will you pardon me for having brought you to England?"
"I, Mr. Fogg!" replied Aouda, suppressing the throbbings of her heart.
"Be kind enough to allow me to finish," continued Mr. Fogg. When I thought of taking you so far away from that country, become so dangerous for you, I was rich, and I counted on placing a portion of my fortune at your disposal. Your life would have been happy and free. Now, I am ruined."
"I know it, Mr. Fogg," replied the young woman, "and I in turn will ask you:—Will you pardon me for having followed you, and—who knows? for having perhaps assisted in your ruin by delaying you?"
"Madame, you could not remain in India, and your safety was only assured by removing you so far that those fanatics could not retake you."
"So, Mr. Fogg," replied Aouda, "not satisfied with rescuing me from a horrible death, you believed you were obliged to assure my position abroad?"
"Yes, madame," replied Fogg, "but events have turned against me. However, I ask your permission to dispose of the little I have left in your favor."
"But you, Mr. Fogg, what will become of you?" asked Aouda.
"I, madame, replied the gentleman, coldly, "I do not need anything."
"But how, sir, do you look upon the fate that awaits you?"
"As I ought to look at it," replied Mr. Fogg.
"In any event," continued Aouda, "want could not reach such a man as you. Your friends———"
"I have no friends, madame."
"Your relatives———"
"I have no relatives now."
"I pity you then, Mr. Fogg, for solitude is a sad thing. What! have you not one heart into which to pour your troubles? They say, however, that with two misery itself is bearable?"
"They say so, madame."
​"Mr. Fogg," then said Aouda, rising and holding out her hand to the gentleman, "do you wish at once a relative and a friend? Will you have me for your wife?"
Mr. Fogg, at this, rose in his turn. There seemed to be an unusual reflection in his eyes, a trembling of his lips. Aouda looked at him. The sincerity, rectitude, firmness, and sweetness of this soft look of a noble woman, who dared everything to save him to whom she owed everything, first astonished him, then penetrated him. He closed his eyes for an instant, as if to prevent this look from penetrating deeper. When he opened them again, he simply said, "I love you. Yes, in truth, by everything most sacred in the world, I love you, and I am entirely yours!"
"Ah," cried Aouda, pressing his hand to her heart.
He rang for Passepartout. He came immediately. Mr. Fogg was still holding Aouda's hand in his. Passepartout understood, and his broad face shone like the sun in the zenith of tropical regions.
Mr. Fogg asked him if he would be too late to notify Rev. Samuel Wilson, of Mary-le-Bone parish.
Passepartout gave his most genial smile.
"Never too late," he said.
It was then five minutes after eight.
"It will be for to-morrow, Monday," he said.
"For to-morrow, Monday?" asked Mr. Fogg looking at the young woman.
"For to-morrow, Monday!" replied Aouda.
Passepartout went out, running as hard as he could.
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