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Around the World in Eighty Days
Chapter 35. IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG DOES NOT HAVE TO REPEAT HIS ORDERS TO PASSEPARTOUT TWICE
The residents 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, and no sign of change was visible.
After leaving the station, Mr. Fogg told Passepartout to buy some food, and quietly went to his home.
He bore his misfortune with his usual calm.
Ruined! And by the detective's mistake!
After that long journey, overcoming many obstacles and dangers and helping others on the way, he almost reached the end.
To fail near the end because of a sudden event he couldn't expect and couldn't stop was terrible.
Only a few pounds of the large sum he had taken with him were left.
He only had the twenty thousand pounds he had put at Barings, and this amount he owed to his friends at the Reform Club.
The expense of his trip had been so great that even if he had won the bet it wouldn't have made him richer.
It's likely he hadn't wanted to get richer, being a man who rather made bets for honor than for money.
But this bet ruined him, leaving him poor and full of deep sadness.
Mr. Fogg's plan, however, was completely decided.
He knew what he had to do.
A room in the house in Saville Row was kept for Aouda, who was full of grief at her protector's misfortune.
From the words Mr. Fogg said, she saw that he was thinking about some serious plan.
Knowing that Englishmen led by a fixed idea sometimes try suicide, Passepartout kept a close watch on his master.
He carefully hid that he was watching him.
First, the good fellow went up to his room and turned off the gas burner that had burned for eighty days.
He had found a bill from the gas company in the letter box.
And he thought it was more than time to stop this cost which he was doomed to pay.
The night passed, Mr. Fogg went to bed, but did he sleep?
Aouda didn't close her eyes once.
Passepartout watched all night, like a faithful dog, at his master's door.
Mr. Fogg called him in the morning and told him to bring Aouda's breakfast and a cup of tea and a chop for himself.
He asked Aouda to excuse him from breakfast and dinner because his time would be taken all day in putting his affairs right.
In the evening he'd ask permission to have a few moments' talk with the young woman.
Passepartout, having received his orders, had nothing to do but obey.
He looked at his calm master and could hardly leave him.
His heart was full, and his conscience was full of regret because he blamed himself more than ever for causing the disaster.
Yes, if he had warned Mr. Fogg about Fix's plans, his master would certainly not have let the detective go to Liverpool.
Passepartout couldn't hold it in any longer.
"My master! Mr. Fogg!" he cried, "why do you not curse me? It was my fault that, "
"I blame no one," replied Phileas Fogg, with perfect calm.
"Go!"
Passepartout left the room and went to find Aouda, to whom he gave 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 known that my gratitude to him is overflowing?"
"Has he ever read my heart, friend, he mustn't be left alone for an instant, you say he'll speak with me this evening?" replied Aouda.
"Yes, madam. Probably to arrange for your protection and comfort in England."
"We shall see," replied Aouda, becoming suddenly thoughtful.
Throughout this day Sunday the house in Saville Row was as if uninhabited.
Phileas Fogg, for the first time since he had lived there, didn't go to his club when Westminster clock struck half past eleven.
Why should he go to the Reform?
His friends no longer expected him there.
Because Phileas Fogg did not appear in the saloon on Saturday 21 December before a quarter to nine, he lost his wager.
It wasn't even necessary for him to go to his bankers for the twenty thousand pounds.
His opponents already had his cheque in their hands.
They only had to fill it out and send it to the Barings to have the amount moved to their credit.
Mr. Fogg, therefore, had no reason to go out, so he stayed at home.
He shut himself in his room and worked at putting his affairs in order.
Passepartout went up and down the stairs all the time.
The hours were long for him.
He listened at his master's door and looked through the keyhole as if he had a right to do so.
He acted like that because he feared something terrible might happen at any moment.
Sometimes he thought of Fix, but no longer in anger.
Fix, like all the world, had been wrong about Phileas Fogg and had only done his duty in tracking and arresting him, while he, Passepartout.
This thought haunted him, and he never stopped cursing his own foolishness.
He was too unhappy to stay alone, so he knocked at Aouda's door and went into her room.
He sat down in a corner without speaking and looked sadly at the young woman.
Aouda stayed quiet, lost in thought, her face showing deep, sad thinking.
About half past seven Mr. Fogg sent to ask if Aouda would see him, and soon he was alone with her.
Phileas Fogg took a chair and sat near the fireplace opposite Aouda.
No feeling was shown on his face.
The Fogg who returned was exactly the Fogg who had gone away.
There was the same calm, the same lack of emotion.
He sat for several minutes without speaking, then, looking at Aouda, "Madam," he said, "will you forgive me for bringing you to England?"
"I, Mr. Fogg!" replied Aouda, holding back the beat of her heart.
"Please let me finish," replied Mr. Fogg.
"When I decided to bring you far from the country that was unsafe for you, I was rich,"
"And I planned to give part of my fortune to you."
"Then your life would have been free and happy."
"But now I'm ruined."
"I know it, Mr. Fogg," replied Aouda.
I ask you, will you forgive me for following you and maybe delaying you and helping to cause your ruin?
"Madam, you couldn't stay in India, and your safety could only be sure by bringing you so far that your pursuers couldn't reach you."
"So, Mr. Fogg,"
Aouda continued, "not content with saving me from a terrible death, you thought you must also make sure I'd be comfortable in a strange land?".
"Yes, madam. But things were against me. Still, I offer the little I have left for your use."
"But what will become of you, Mr. Fogg?"
"As for me, madam," replied the gentleman coldly, "I need nothing."
"But how do you see the fate that waits for you, sir?"
"As I always do."
"At least," said Aouda, "need shouldn't come to a man like you. Your friends."
"I have no friends, madam."
"Your relatives."
"I no longer have any relatives."
"I pity you then, Mr."
"Fogg, for being alone is sad with no heart to share your grief."
"They say, though, that misfortune itself shared by two kind souls can be borne with patience."
"They say so, madam."
"Mr. Fogg," said Aouda, standing and taking his hand.
"Do you want at once a relative and a friend? Will you have me for your wife?"
Mr. Fogg then stood, there was an unusual light in his eyes and a small tremble on his lips.
Aouda looked at his face, trying to read his true feeling.
The honesty, truth, strength and sweetness of her soft look surprised him at first.
She was a noble woman who could dare all to save the man she owed everything to, and then it touched him.
He closed 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's holy, I love you, and I'm entirely yours!"
"Ah!" cried Aouda, pressing his hand to her heart.
Passepartout was called and came at once.
Mr. Fogg still held Aouda's hand in his.
Passepartout understood and his big round face became as bright as the tropical sun at noon.
Mr. Fogg asked him if it wasn't too late to tell the Reverend Samuel Wilson of Marylebone parish that evening.
Passepartout smiled his warmest 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.