The people living along Saville Row would have been amazed the next morning if they had known that Phileas Fogg was already back home. Nothing about the house had changed. The doors and windows were still closed, just as they had been before his journey.
After leaving the station, Mr. Fogg gave Passepartout a few simple instructions.
“Go and buy some food for the house. Then come home.”
“Yes, sir.”
Fogg returned to Saville Row without another word.
He had lost everything, and yet he remained as calm as ever.
After traveling around the world, overcoming countless obstacles, facing danger again and again, and even finding time to help others along the way, he had failed almost at the very end.
And the reason?
Detective Fix’s mistake.
It was a disaster that Fogg could never have predicted and had no way to prevent.
Only a few pounds remained from the money he had taken with him. The twenty thousand pounds deposited with Barings still belonged to him, but he owed that money to his friends at the Reform Club.
The journey had cost him so much that even if he had won the wager, he would probably not have made any money from it.
That had never really mattered to him.
Phileas Fogg had made the wager for honor, not for profit.
But now the wager had completely ruined him.
Even so, Fogg knew exactly what he intended to do next.
A room in his house had been prepared for Aouda. She was heartbroken by what had happened to the man who had saved her.
From a few things Fogg had said, she understood that he was planning something serious.
Passepartout was worried too.
He knew that some stubborn Englishmen, when driven to despair by a single idea, might even think of taking their own lives.
So he secretly kept watch over his master.
The first thing he did was go upstairs and turn off the gas lamp in his room.
That lamp had been burning for eighty days.
Passepartout had found a gas bill in the letter box.
“Well, I suppose it is finally time to stop paying for that,” he muttered.
Night came.
Mr. Fogg went to bed.
But whether he slept, no one knew.
Aouda did not sleep at all.
And Passepartout stayed outside his master’s door the entire night, watching like a faithful dog.
The next morning, Fogg called him.
“Passepartout.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Prepare breakfast for Mrs. Aouda. And bring me a cup of tea and a chop.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell Mrs. Aouda that I will not have breakfast or dinner today. I must spend the whole day putting my affairs in order.”
“Yes, sir.”
“This evening, I would like to speak with her for a few minutes.”
Passepartout nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
He turned to leave, but he could hardly make himself go.
He looked at his master’s calm face, and his heart filled with guilt.
He blamed himself more than ever for Fogg’s terrible loss.
If only he had warned Mr. Fogg about Fix.
If only he had told him that Fix intended to arrest him.
Then Mr. Fogg would never have allowed the detective to travel with them to Liverpool.
And then—
Passepartout could not hold himself back any longer.
“My master! Mr. Fogg!”
Fogg looked at him.
“Why don’t you curse me? This was all my fault!”
“I blame no one,” Fogg replied calmly. “Go.”
Passepartout lowered his head and left the room.
He went straight to Aouda and delivered his master’s message.
“Madam, I don’t know what to do. I have no influence over my master. But perhaps you can help him.”
“What influence could I possibly have?” Aouda asked. “Mr. Fogg listens to no one.”
She paused.
“Does he even understand how deeply grateful I am to him? Does he know what is in my heart?”
She looked worried.
“My friend, he must not be left alone for even a moment.”
“You heard him, madam. He wants to speak with you this evening.”
“Perhaps he wants to arrange for my future,” Aouda said quietly. “Perhaps he wants to make sure I will be safe and comfortable in England.”
“We shall see,” she replied thoughtfully.
It was Sunday.
All day, the house on Saville Row remained strangely quiet.
For the first time since he had lived there, Phileas Fogg did not leave the house when the Westminster clock struck half past eleven.
Why should he go to the Reform Club?
His friends were no longer waiting for him.
He had failed to arrive at the club before eight forty-five the previous evening, Saturday, December 21.
His wager was already lost.
He did not even need to visit his bank to withdraw the twenty thousand pounds. His opponents already had his signed check. All they had to do was fill it in and send it to Barings.
Fogg therefore had no reason to leave home.
He stayed in his room and quietly put his affairs in order.
Passepartout spent the entire day going up and down the stairs.
The hours seemed endless.
Again and again, he stopped outside his master’s door and listened.
Sometimes he even looked through the keyhole.
He knew it was not really his place to do so, but he was afraid something terrible might happen.
From time to time, he thought about Fix.
He was no longer angry with the detective.
Fix had been wrong about Mr. Fogg, just like everyone else.
But from Fix’s point of view, he had simply been doing his duty. He had believed Fogg was a criminal and had followed him across the world to arrest him.
Passepartout was the one who had made the real mistake.
That thought tortured him.
He cursed his own stupidity again and again.
Finally, he could not bear being alone anymore.
He knocked on Aouda’s door.
“Come in,” she said.
Passepartout entered and sat silently in a corner.
He looked sadly at Aouda.
She was still deep in thought.
Around half past seven that evening, Fogg sent word to Aouda.
“Will you receive me?”
“Of course.”
A few moments later, Fogg entered the room.
He sat near the fireplace, facing Aouda.
His expression was completely calm.
He looked exactly as he had before leaving on his journey.
The same quiet face.
The same steady manner.
The same complete self-control.
For several minutes, neither of them spoke.
At last, Fogg looked directly at her.
“Madam, will you forgive me for bringing you to England?”
“Forgive you, Mr. Fogg?”
Aouda’s heart began beating faster.
“Please let me explain,” Fogg said. “When I decided to take you away from India, where you were in danger, I was a wealthy man. I intended to use part of my fortune to give you a safe and comfortable life.”
He paused.
“But now I am ruined.”
“I know, Mr. Fogg,” Aouda said.
Then she looked at him seriously.
“And will you forgive me for following you? Perhaps I delayed you. Perhaps I helped cause your ruin.”
“You could not stay in India,” Fogg replied. “The only way to protect you was to take you far enough away that your enemies could never reach you.”
“So you not only rescued me from a terrible death,” Aouda said, “but you also felt responsible for making sure I could live comfortably in a foreign country?”
“Yes, madam.”
Fogg lowered his eyes.
“But circumstances have turned against me.”
He looked at her again.
“Still, I ask you to accept whatever little I have left.”
Aouda stared at him.
“But what will happen to you, Mr. Fogg?”
“As for me, madam, I need nothing.”
“And how do you feel about the future that awaits you?”
“Exactly as I always have.”
Aouda was silent for a moment.
“At least you should never have to live in poverty. You have friends.”
“I have no friends, madam.”
“Your family, then.”
“I have no family.”
Aouda’s eyes filled with sadness.
“I pity you, Mr. Fogg. Being alone is a terrible thing when you have no one to share your sorrow with.”
She hesitated.
“But people say that even misery becomes easier to bear when two people face it together.”
“They do say so, madam.”
Aouda suddenly stood up.
She walked toward him and took his hand.
“Mr. Fogg, would you like a family member and a friend at the same time?”
Fogg looked at her.
“Will you marry me?”
For the first time, something changed in Phileas Fogg’s expression.
He stood up.
There was an unfamiliar light in his eyes, and his lips trembled slightly.
Aouda looked straight into his face.
Her eyes were full of sincerity, courage, and tenderness.
She was ready to risk everything to save the man who had given her everything.
For a moment, Fogg was overwhelmed.
He closed his eyes.
Then he opened them again.
“I love you,” he said simply.
“Yes. I swear that I love you.”
He held her hand tightly.
“And I am completely yours.”
Aouda pressed his hand against her heart.
“Oh!”
At that moment, Passepartout was called into the room.
He hurried in.
Mr. Fogg was still holding Aouda’s hand.
Passepartout understood immediately.
His round face suddenly lit up with happiness.
It was as bright as the tropical sun.
Fogg turned to him.
“Passepartout, is it too late to send word to Reverend Samuel Wilson of the Marylebone parish tonight?”
Passepartout gave the biggest smile of his life.
“Never too late, sir!”
It was five minutes past eight.
“Then it will be tomorrow, Monday?” Fogg asked, turning to Aouda.
“Yes,” she replied.
“Tomorrow, Monday.”
Passepartout rushed out of the house as fast as his legs could carry him.