last look on these wonders of nature, on the riches of art
heaped up in this museum, upon the unrivalled collection destined to
perish at the bottom of the sea, with him who had formed it. I wished
to fix an indelible impression of it in my mind. I remained an hour
thus, bathed in the light of that luminous ceiling, and passing in
review those treasures shining under their glasses. Then I returned to
my room.

I dressed myself in strong sea clothing. I collected my notes, placing
them carefully about me. My heart beat loudly. I could not check its
pulsations. Certainly my trouble and agitation would have betrayed me
to Captain Nemo's eyes. What was he doing at this moment? I listened
at the door of his room. I heard steps. Captain Nemo was there. He
had not gone to rest. At every moment I expected to see him appear,
and ask me why I wished to fly. I was constantly on the alert. My
imagination magnified everything. The impression became at last so
poignant that I asked myself if it would not be better to go to the
Captain's room, see him face to face, and brave him with look and
gesture.

It was the inspiration of a madman; fortunately I resisted the desire,
and stretched myself on my bed to quiet my bodily agitation. My nerves
were somewhat calmer, but in my excited brain I saw over again all my
existence on board the Nautilus; every incident, either happy or
unfortunate, which had happened since my disappearance from the Abraham
Lincoln--the submarine hunt, the Torres Straits, the savages of Papua,
the running ashore, the coral cemetery, the passage of Suez, the Island
of Santorin, the Cretan diver, Vigo Bay, Atlantis, the iceberg, the
South Pole, the imprisonment in the ice, the fight among the poulps,
the storm in the Gulf Stream, the Avenger, and the horrible scene of
the vessel sunk with all her crew. All these events passed before my
eyes like scenes in a drama. Then Captain Nemo seemed to grow
enormously, his features to assume superhuman proportions. He was no
longer my equal, but a man of the waters, the genie of the sea.

It was then half-past nine. I held my head between my hands to keep it
from bursting. I closed my eyes; I would not think any longer. There
was another half-hour to wait, another half-hour of a nightmare, which
might drive me mad.

At that moment I heard the distant strains of the organ, a sad harmony
to an undefinable chant, the wail of a soul longing to break thes