. Fogg.

That gentleman was quite ready. Under his arm he carried a copy of
"Bradshaw's Continental Guide." He took the small bag from
Passe-partout, opened it, and placed therein a bulky roll of
bank-notes, which will pass in any country.

"You are sure you have not forgotten anything?" he asked.

"Quite sure, sir."

"You have my mackintosh and travelling-cloak?"

"Here they are, sir."

"All right, take the bag;" and Mr. Fogg handed it back to the man.
"You had better take care of it," he added, "there are twenty thousand
pounds in it."

Passe-partout nearly let the bag fall, as if it were weighted with the
twenty thousand pounds in gold.

Master and man went downstairs together; the door was shut and
double-locked. Phileas called a cab from the bottom of Saville Row,
and drove to Charing Cross Station. It was twenty minutes past eight
when they reached the railway. Passe-partout jumped out. His master
followed, and paid the cabman. At this moment a poor beggar-woman,
carrying a baby, looking very miserable with her naked feet and
tattered appearance, approached Mr. Fogg, and asked for alms.

Mr. Fogg drew from his waistcoat-pocket the twenty guineas he had won
at whist, and handing them to the beggar-woman, said: "Take these, my
good woman. I am glad I have met you." He then entered the station.

This action of his master brought the tears into Passe-partout's
susceptible eyes. Mr. Fogg had risen in his estimation. That eccentric
individual now told him to take two first-class tickets for Paris, and
as he turned round he perceived his five friends from the Reform Club.

"Well, gentlemen, you see I am about to start, and the visas on my
passport on my return will convince you that I have performed the
journey."

"Oh, Mr. Fogg," replied Gauthier Ralph politely, "that is quite
unnecessary. We believe you to be a man of your word."

"All the better," was Fogg's reply.

"You won't forget when you have to come back," observed Stuart.

"In eighty days," replied Mr. Fogg. "On Saturday, the 21st day of
December, 1872, at forty-five minutes past eight in the evening. _Au
revoir_, gentlemen."

At twenty minutes to nine Phileas Fogg and his servant took their
places in the train. At 8.45 the engine whistled and the train
started.

The night was dark, and a fine rain was falling. Mr. Fogg was
comfortably settled in his corner, and did not say a word.
Passe-partout, still rather in a state of stupefaction, me