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 light in my room!"
"Very well, young man," Mr. Fogg replied coolly. "It will burn at your expense."