ot been held back by some policemen. Aouda was
thunderstruck at the suddenness of an event which she could not
understand. Passepartout explained to her how it was that the honest
and courageous Fogg was arrested as a robber. The young woman's heart
revolted against so heinous a charge, and when she saw that she could
attempt to do nothing to save her protector, she wept bitterly.

As for Fix, he had arrested Mr. Fogg because it was his duty, whether
Mr. Fogg were guilty or not.

The thought then struck Passepartout, that he was the cause of this new
misfortune! Had he not concealed Fix's errand from his master? When
Fix revealed his true character and purpose, why had he not told Mr.
Fogg? If the latter had been warned, he would no doubt have given Fix
proof of his innocence, and satisfied him of his mistake; at least, Fix
would not have continued his journey at the expense and on the heels of
his master, only to arrest him the moment he set foot on English soil.
Passepartout wept till he was blind, and felt like blowing his brains
out.

Aouda and he had remained, despite the cold, under the portico of the
Custom House. Neither wished to leave the place; both were anxious to
see Mr. Fogg again.

That gentleman was really ruined, and that at the moment when he was
about to attain his end. This arrest was fatal. Having arrived at
Liverpool at twenty minutes before twelve on the 21st of December, he
had till a quarter before nine that evening to reach the Reform Club,
that is, nine hours and a quarter; the journey from Liverpool to London
was six hours.

If anyone, at this moment, had entered the Custom House, he would have
found Mr. Fogg seated, motionless, calm, and without apparent anger,
upon a wooden bench. He was not, it is true, resigned; but this last
blow failed to force him into an outward betrayal of any emotion. Was
he being devoured by one of those secret rages, all the more terrible
because contained, and which only burst forth, with an irresistible
force, at the last moment? No one could tell. There he sat, calmly
waiting--for what? Did he still cherish hope? Did he still believe,
now that the door of this prison was closed upon him, that he would
succeed?

However that may have been, Mr. Fogg carefully put his watch upon the
table, and observed its advancing hands. Not a word escaped his lips,
but his look was singularly set and stern. The situation, in any
event, was a terrible on