Why should he present himself at the Reform？His friends no longer expected him there.As Phileas Fogg had not appeared in the saloon on the evening before（Saturday，the 21st of December，at a quarter before nine），he had lost his wager.It was not even necessary that he should go to his bankers for the twenty thousand pounds；for his antagonists already had his cheque in their hands，and they had only to fill it out and send it to the Barings to have the amount transferred to their credit.
Mr Fogg，therefore，had no reason for going out，and so he remained at home.He shut himself up in his room，and busied himself putting his affairs in order.Passepartout continually ascended and descended the stairs.The hours were long for him.He listened at his master's door，and looked through the keyhole，as if he had a perfect right so to do，and as if he feared that something terrible might happen at any moment.Sometimes he thought of Fix，but no longer in anger.Fix，like all the world，had been mistaken in Phileas Fogg，and had only done his duty in tracking and arresting him；while he，Passepartout-.This thought haunted him，and he never ceased cursing his miserable folly.
Finding himself too wretched to remain alone，he knocked at Aouda's door，went into her room，seated himself，without speaking，in a corner，and looked ruefully at the young woman.Aouda was still pensive.
About half-past seven in the evening Mr Fogg sent to know if Aouda would receive him，and in a few moments he found himself alone with her.
Phileas Fogg took a chair，and sat down near the fireplace，opposite Aouda.No emotion was visible on his face.Fogg returned was exactly the Fogg who had gone away；there was the same calm，the same impassibility.
He sat several minutes without speaking；then，bending his eyes on Aouda，Madam，said he，will you pardon me for bringing you to England？
I，Mr Fogg！replied Aouda，checking the pulsations of her heart.
Please let me finish，returned Mr Fogg.When I decided to bring you far away from the country which was so unsafe for you，I was rich，and counted on putting a portion of my fortune at your disposal；then your existence would have been free and happy.But now I am ruined.
I know it，Mr Fogg，replied Aouda；and I ask you in my turn，will you forgive me for having followed you，and-who knows？-for having，perhaps，delayed you，and thus contributed to your ruin？
Madam，you could not remain in India，and your safety could only be assured by bringing you to such a distance that your persecutors could not take you.
So，Mr Fogg，resumed Aouda，not content with rescuing me from a terrible death，you thought yourself bound to secure my comfort in a foreign land？
Yes，madam；but circumstances have been against me.Still，I beg to place the little I have left at your service.
But what will become of you，Mr Fogg？
As for me，madam，replied the gentleman，coldly，I have need of nothing.
But how do you look upon the fate，sir，which awaits you？
As I am in the habit of doing.
At least，said Aouda，want should not overtake a man like you.Your friends——
I have no friends，madam.
Your relatives——
I have no longer any relatives.
I pity you，then，Mr Fogg，for solitude is a sad thing，with no heart to which to confide your griefs.They say，though，that misery itself，shared by two sympathetic souls may be borne with patience.
They say so，madam.
Mr Fogg，said Aouda，rising and seizing his hand，do you wish at once a kinswoman and friend？Will you have me for your wife？
Mr Fogg，at this，rose in turn.There was an unwonted light in his eyes，and slight trembling of his lips.Aouda looked into his face.The sincerity，rectitude，firmness and sweetness of this soft glance of a noble woman，who could dare all to save him to whom she owed all，at first astonished，then penetrated him.He shut his eyes for an instant，as if to avoid her look.When he opened them again，I love you！he said，simply.Yes，by all that is holiest，I love you，and I am entirely yours！
Ah！cried Aouda，pressing his hand to her heart.
Passepartout was summoned and appeared immediately.Mr Fogg still held Aouda's hand in his own；Passepartout understood，and his big，round face became as radiant as the tropical sun at its zenith.
Mr Fogg asked him if it was not too late to notify the Reverend Samuel Wilson，of Marylebone Parish，that evening.
Passepartout smiled his most genial smile，and said，Never too late.
It was five minutes past eight.
Will it be for tomorrow，Monday？
For tomorrow，Monday，said Fogg，turning to Aouda.
Yes；for tomorrow，Monday，she replied.
Passepartout hurried off as fast as his legs could carry him.
