Phileas Fogg and his servant seated themselves in a first-class carriage
at twenty minutes before nine; five minutes later the whistle screamed,
and the train slowly glided out of the station.

The night was dark, and a fine, steady rain was falling.
Phileas Fogg, snugly ensconced in his corner, did not open his lips.
Passepartout, not yet recovered from his stupefaction,
clung mechanically to the carpet-bag, with its enormous treasure.

Just as the train was whirling through Sydenham,
Passepartout suddenly uttered a cry of despair.

"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Fogg.

"Alas! In my hurry--I--I forgot--"

"What?"

"To turn off the gas in my room!"

"Very well, young man," returned Mr. Fogg, coolly; "it will burn--
at your expense."





Chapter V