At twenty-five minutes after seven, Phileas Fogg having gained twenty guineas at whist, took leave of his honorable colleagues, and left the Reform Club. At ten minutes of eight, he opened the door of his house and entered.

Passepartout, who had conscientiously studied his programme, was quite surprised at seeing Mr. Fogg guilty of the inexactness of appearing at this unusual hour. According to the notice, the occupant of Saville Row ought not to return before midnight, precisely.

Phileas Fogg first went to his bed-room. Then he called "Passepartout!"

Passepartout could not reply, for this call could not be addressed to him, as it was not the hour.

"Passepartout," Mr. Fogg called again without raising his voice much.

Passepartout presented himself.

"It is the second time that I have called you," said Mr. Fogg.

"But it is not midnight," replied Passepartout.

"I know it," continued Phileas Fogg, "and I do not find fault with you. We leave in ten minutes for Dover and Calais."

A sort of faint grimace appeared on the round face of the Frenchman. It was evident that he had not fully understood. "Monsieur is going to leave home?" he asked.

"Yes," replied Phileas Fogg. "We are going to make the tour of the world."

Passepartout, with his eyes wide open, his eyebrows raised, his arms extended, and his body collapsed, presented all the symptoms of an astonishment amounting to stupor.

"The tour of the world!" he murmured.

"In eighty days," replied Mr. Fogg. "So we have not a moment to lose."

"But the trunks?" said Passepartout, who was unconsciously swinging his head from right to left.

"No trunks necessary. Only a carpet-bag. In it two woolen shirts and three pairs of stockings. The same for you. We will purchase on the way. You may bring down my mackintosh and traveling cloak, also stout shoes, although we will walk but little or not at all. Go."

Passepartout would have liked to make reply. He could not. He left Mr. Fogg's room, went up to his own, fell back into a chair, and making use of a common phrase in his country, he said: "Well, well, that's pretty tough. I who wanted to remain quiet!"

And mechanically he made his preparations for departure. The tour of the world in eighty days! Was he doing business with a madman? No. It was a joke, perhaps? They were going to Dover. Good. To Calais, let it be so. After all, it could not cross the grain of the good fellow very much, who had not trod the soil of his native country for five years. Perhaps they would go as far as Paris, and, indeed, it would give him pleasure to see the great capital again. But, surely, a gentleman so careful of his steps would stop there. Yes, doubtless; but it was not less true that he was starting out, that he was leaving home, this gentleman who until this time had been such a homebody!

By eight o'clock Passepartout had put in order the modest bag which contained his wardrobe and that of his master; then, his mind still disturbed, he left his room, the door of which he closed carefully, and he rejoined Mr. Fogg.

Mr. Fogg was ready. He carried under his arm Bradshaw's Continental Railway Steam Transit and General Guide which was to furnish him all the necessary directions for his journey. He took the bag from Passepartout's hands, opened it, and slipped into it a heavy package of those fine bank-notes which are current in all countries.

"You have forgotten nothing?" he asked.

"My mackintosh and cloak?"

"Here they are."

"Good, take this bag," and Mr. Fogg handed it to Passepartout. "And take good care of it," he added, "there are twenty thousand pounds in it." The bag nearly slipped out of Passepartout's hands, as if the twenty thousand pounds had been in gold and weighed very heavy.