After leaving the station, Phileas Fogg quietly returned to his house on Savile Row.
His neighbors would have been surprised to learn that he had returned.
The doors and windows of his house remained closed. The building was quiet.
Mr. Fogg was ruined! And by the blundering of a detective!
Only a few pounds were left in the carpetbag that had traveled the world with him.
All that remained of his fortune–twenty-thousand pounds deposited at the bank–he now owed to his friends at the Reform Club.
He set aside a room in the house for Aouda, who was overwhelmed with grief at her protector's misfortune.
Passepartout was also desperately concerned for his master.
He watched all evening as Mr. Fogg sat silently in his armchair.
Late at night Mr. Fogg climbed the stairs to bed.
Many a ruined man has chosen suicide, and fearful that Mr. Fogg planned some desperate act,
Passepartout waited faithfully all night at his master's door.
In the morning Mr. Fogg called Passepartout into his room and asked him to look after Aouda's breakfast and lunch.
Mr. Fogg would be too busy setting his affairs in order.
In the evening he would ask permission to have a few moments of conversation with the lady.
Passepartout felt so horrible and responsible that he could contain himself no longer.
"My master! Mr. Fogg!" he cried. "Don't you blame me? It was my fault that—"
"I blame no one," returned Mr. Fogg. "Go!"
Passepartout left Mr. Fogg's room and went to deliver the master's message to Aouda.
Mr. Fogg shut himself in his room and busied himself at his desk.
Passepartout also had a matter to settle.
In the mailbox that morning, he had found a bill from the gas company.
He remembered at once that the heater in his room had been burning for eighty days!
He wasted not one minute more and rushed to his room to shut it off.
At half-past seven that evening, Mr. Fogg knocked on Aouda's door.
No emotion was visible on his face.
He entered and sat several minutes without speaking.
Then he said, "Madam, please forgive me for bringing you to England.
When I decided to bring you so far away from your country, I was rich.
I was going to put a portion of my fortune at your disposal.
Then you would have been free and happy. But now I am ruined."
"I know it, Mr. Fogg," said Aouda. "And I ask in return, will you forgive me for following you?
For, perhaps, delaying you and contributing to your loss."
"Madam, you could not have remained in India.
Your safety depended on traveling as far as possible from those chasing you."
"But what will become of you?" asked Aouda.
"I have need of nothing," said Fogg.
"Surely poverty will not overtake a man like you," said Aouda. "Your friends—"
"They are not close friends," he replied simply.
"Your relatives—"
"I no longer have any relatives."
"Mr. Fogg," said Aouda, rising. "May I offer you a kinswoman and a friend?
Will you have me for your wife?"
At this, Mr. Fogg rose in his turn.
There was a light in his eyes and a slight trembling of his lips. Aouda looked into his face.
Fogg shut his eyes for an instant as if to avoid her look, but when he opened them again, he said, "I love you.
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, and Passepartout immediately understood what had happened.
Passepartout's face became as radiant as the tropical sun at its highest.
Mr. Fogg asked him if it was not too late to notify the Reverend Samuel Wilson that very evening.
Passepartout smiled one of his warmest smiles and said, "It is never too late!"
It was five minutes past eight in the evening.
"Will the wedding be tomorrow?" asked Passepartout.
"Tomorrow," said Mr. Fogg, turning to Aouda. "Monday."
"Yes, Monday," she replied.
Passepartout hurried off as fast as his legs could carry him.
At least something good came out of our trip.
Mr. Fogg and Aouda are in love and will get married!
I must find Reverend Wilson and start preparing for the wedding. There is so much to do!
Did you know that most brides in England wear white?
This tradition was started when Queen Victoria got married in 1840 and wore a white dress.
Before that brides wore just about any color, with red being quite a popular choice.
As for Mr. Fogg, well, he won't be wearing white!
He might wear a frock coat, the long dress coat that is traditional for Victorian gentlemen.
But today many men are wearing morning coats to weddings.
A morning coat is cut short in the front with two long tails in the back.
A morning coat is black or gray.
After the church wedding, it is customary to have a wedding breakfast.
I must be sure to reserve a special corner in Mr. Fogg's house where Aouda can receive the guests who come to congratulate the happy couple.
After the reception, perhaps Mr. Fogg and Aouda will go on a honeymoon.
Please forgive me, readers, if I do not linger much longer.
Why, I have a wedding to plan!