his voice.

Passepartout made his appearance.

"I've called you twice," observed his master.

"But it is not midnight," responded the other, showing his watch.

"I know it; I don't blame you. We start for Dover and Calais in ten
minutes."

A puzzled grin overspread Passepartout's round face; clearly he had not
comprehended his master.

"Monsieur is going to leave home?"

"Yes," returned Phileas Fogg. "We are going round the world."

Passepartout opened wide his eyes, raised his eyebrows, held up his
hands, and seemed about to collapse, so overcome was he with stupefied
astonishment.

"Round the world!" he murmured.

"In eighty days," responded Mr. Fogg. "So we haven't a moment to lose."

"But the trunks?" gasped Passepartout, unconsciously swaying his head
from right to left.

"We'll have no trunks; only a carpet-bag, with two shirts and three
pairs of stockings for me, and the same for you. We'll buy our clothes
on the way. Bring down my mackintosh and traveling-cloak, and some
stout shoes, though we shall do little walking. Make haste!"

Passepartout tried to reply, but could not. He went out, mounted to
his own room, fell into a chair, and muttered: "That's good, that is!
And I, who wanted to remain quiet!"

He mechanically set about making the preparations for departure.
Around the world in eighty days! Was his master a fool? No. Was this
a joke, then? They were going to Dover; good! To Calais; good again!
After all, Passepartout, who had been away from France five years,
would not be sorry to set foot on his native soil again. Perhaps they
would go as far as Paris, and it would do his eyes good to see Paris
once more. But surely a gentleman so chary of his steps would stop
there; no doubt--but, then, it was none the less true that he was
going away, this so domestic person hitherto!

By eight o'clock Passepartout had packed the modest carpet-bag,
containing the wardrobes of his master and himself; then, still
troubled in mind, he carefully shut the door of his room, and descended
to Mr. Fogg.

Mr. Fogg was quite ready. Under his arm might have been observed a
red-bound copy of Bradshaw's Continental Railway Steam Transit and
General Guide, with its timetables showing the arrival and departure of
steamers and railways. He took the carpet-bag, opened it, and slipped
into it a goodly roll of Bank of England notes, which would pass
wherever he might go.

"You have forgotten nothi