erceived a heart, a soul, under that
icy exterior. He began to love Phileas Fogg.

There remained the guide: what course would he adopt? Would he not
take part with the Indians? In default of his assistance, it was
necessary to be assured of his neutrality.

Sir Francis frankly put the question to him.

"Officers," replied the guide, "I am a Parsee, and this woman is a
Parsee. Command me as you will."

"Excellent!" said Mr. Fogg.

"However," resumed the guide, "it is certain, not only that we shall
risk our lives, but horrible tortures, if we are taken."

"That is foreseen," replied Mr. Fogg. "I think we must wait till night
before acting."

"I think so," said the guide.

The worthy Indian then gave some account of the victim, who, he said,
was a celebrated beauty of the Parsee race, and the daughter of a
wealthy Bombay merchant. She had received a thoroughly English
education in that city, and, from her manners and intelligence, would
be thought an European. Her name was Aouda. Left an orphan, she was
married against her will to the old rajah of Bundelcund; and, knowing
the fate that awaited her, she escaped, was retaken, and devoted by the
rajah's relatives, who had an interest in her death, to the sacrifice
from which it seemed she could not escape.

The Parsee's narrative only confirmed Mr. Fogg and his companions in
their generous design. It was decided that the guide should direct the
elephant towards the pagoda of Pillaji, which he accordingly approached
as quickly as possible. They halted, half an hour afterwards, in a
copse, some five hundred feet from the pagoda, where they were well
concealed; but they could hear the groans and cries of the fakirs
distinctly.

They then discussed the means of getting at the victim. The guide was
familiar with the pagoda of Pillaji, in which, as he declared, the
young woman was imprisoned. Could they enter any of its doors while
the whole party of Indians was plunged in a drunken sleep, or was it
safer to attempt to make a hole in the walls? This could only be
determined at the moment and the place themselves; but it was certain
that the abduction must be made that night, and not when, at break of
day, the victim was led to her funeral pyre. Then no human
intervention could save her.

As soon as night fell, about six o'clock, they decided to make a
reconnaissance around the pagoda. The cries of the fakirs were just
ceasing; the Indians were in the