Phileas Fogg left his club much earlier than usual. When he arrived home, he
went straight to his room and called for his servant.
Passepartout did not answer at first. It was not the correct hour on his daily
schedule. Fogg called again, and Passepartout finally appeared.
"I have called you twice," Fogg said calmly.
"But it is not midnight, sir," Passepartout replied, showing his watch.
"I know. I do not blame you. We leave for France in ten minutes."
Passepartout's eyes opened wide in shock. "We are leaving?"
"Yes," Fogg answered. "We are going around the world in eighty days. We do not
have a minute to lose."
"But what about our luggage?" Passepartout gasped.
"We will not take heavy trunks. Just one small travel bag with a few shirts and
socks. We will buy new clothes on the way. Go get our heavy coats and strong
shoes. Hurry!"
Passepartout could not speak. He went up to his room, fell into a chair, and
held his head. He had taken this job to have a quiet, peaceful life! But he
mechanically started to pack.
By eight o'clock, the small bag was ready. He carried it downstairs to his
master. Fogg had a railway guidebook under his arm. He opened the travel bag and
put a thick roll of banknotes inside.
"Did you forget anything?" Fogg asked.
"Nothing, sir."
"Good. Take this bag. Guard it carefully, because there are twenty thousand
pounds inside."
Passepartout almost dropped the bag. It suddenly felt incredibly heavy.
They locked the front door, caught a carriage, and quickly rode to the train
station. As they walked toward the entrance, a poor beggar woman with a child in
her arms asked them for money. Fogg took out the coins he had just won at his
card game and gave them all to her.
"Here, my good woman. I am glad I met you," he said.
Passepartout felt a tear in his eye. His new master was strange, but he had a
very kind heart.
After buying two first-class tickets to Paris, Fogg saw his five friends from
the club waiting near the train.
"Well, gentlemen, I am leaving," Fogg told them. "When I return, you can check
my passport to prove my journey."
"That is unnecessary, Mr. Fogg," one of them replied politely. "We trust your
word. But do not forget your deadline."
"In eighty days. On Saturday, the 21st of December, at a quarter to nine in the
evening. Goodbye."
Fogg and his servant sat in the train. A few minutes later, it slowly moved out
of the station into the dark, rainy night. Fogg sat silently in his corner.
Passepartout was still in a panic, holding the valuable travel bag tightly
against his chest.
Suddenly, Passepartout let out a cry of despair.
"What is the matter?" Fogg asked.
"In my hurry... I forgot something!"
"What?"
"I forgot to turn off the gas heater in my room!"
"Very well, young man," Mr. Fogg replied coolly. "It will burn at your expense."