Chapter: The rash exploit had been accomplished; and for an hour Passepartout
laughed gaily at his success.  Sir Francis pressed the worthy fellow's
hand, and his master said, "Well done!" which, from him, was high
commendation; to which Passepartout replied that all the credit of the
affair belonged to Mr. Fogg.  As for him, he had only been struck with
a "queer" idea; and he laughed to think that for a few moments he,
Passepartout, the ex-gymnast, ex-sergeant fireman, had been the spouse
of a charming woman, a venerable, embalmed rajah!  As for the young
Indian woman, she had been unconscious throughout of what was passing,
and now, wrapped up in a travelling-blanket, was reposing in one of the
howdahs.

The elephant, thanks to the skilful guidance of the Parsee, was
advancing rapidly through the still darksome forest, and, an hour after
leaving the pagoda, had crossed a vast plain.  They made a halt at
seven o'clock, the young woman being still in a state of complete
prostration.  The guide made her drink a little brandy and water, but
the drowsiness which stupefied her could not yet be shaken off.  Sir
Francis, who was familiar with the effects of the intoxication produced
by the fumes of hemp, reassured his companions on her account.  But he
was more disturbed at the prospect of her future fate.  He told Phileas
Fogg that, should Aouda remain in India, she would inevitably fall
again into the hands of her executioners.  These fanatics were
scattered throughout the county, and would, despite the English police,
recover their victim at Madras, Bombay, or Calcutta.  She would only be
safe by quitting India for ever.

Phileas Fogg replied that he would reflect upon the matter.

The station at Allahabad was reached about ten o'clock, and, the
interrupted line of railway being resumed, would enable them to reach
Calcutta in less than twenty-four hours.  Phileas Fogg would thus be
able to arrive in time to take the steamer which left Calcutta the next
day, October 25th, at noon, for Hong Kong.

The young woman was placed in one of the waiting-rooms of the station,
whilst Passepartout was charged with purchasing for her various
articles of toilet, a dress, shawl, and some furs; for which his master
gave him unlimited credit.  Passepartout started off forthwith, and
found himself in the streets of Allahabad, that is, the City of God,
one of the most venerated in India, being built at the junction of the
two sacred rivers, Ganges and Jumna, the waters of which attract
pilgrims from every part of the peninsula.  The Ganges, according to
the legends of the Ramayana, rises in heaven, whence, owing to Brahma's
agency, it descends to the earth.

Passepartout made it a point, as he made his purchases, to take a good
look at the city.  It was formerly defended by a noble fort, which has
since become a state prison; its commerce has dwindled away, and
Passepartout in vain looked about him for such a bazaar as he used to
frequent in Regent Street.  At last he came upon an elderly, crusty
Jew, who sold second-hand articles, and from whom he purchased a dress
of Scotch stuff, a large mantle, and a fine otter-skin pelisse, for
which he did not hesitate to pay seventy-five pounds.  He then returned
triumphantly to the station.

The influence to which the priests of Pillaji had subjected Aouda began
gradually to yield, and she became more herself, so that her fine eyes
resumed all their soft Indian expression.

When the poet-king, Ucaf Uddaul, celebrates the charms of the queen of
Ahmehnagara, he speaks thus:

"Her shining tresses, divided in two parts, encircle the harmonious
contour of her white and delicate cheeks, brilliant in their glow and
freshness.  Her ebony brows have the form and charm of the bow of Kama,
the god of love, and beneath her long silken lashes the purest
reflections and a celestial light swim, as in the sacred lakes of
Himalaya, in the black pupils of her great clear eyes.  Her teeth,
fine, equal, and white, glitter between her smiling lips like dewdrops
in a passion-flower's half-enveloped breast.  Her delicately formed
ears, her vermilion hands, her little feet, curved and tender as the
lotus-bud, glitter with the brilliancy of the loveliest pearls of
Ceylon, the most dazzling diamonds of Golconda.  Her narrow and supple
waist, which a hand may clasp around, sets forth the outline of her
rounded figure and the beauty of her bosom, where youth in its flower
displays the wealth of its treasures; and beneath the silken folds of
her tunic she seems to have been modelled in pure silver by the godlike
hand of Vicvarcarma, the immortal sculptor."

It is enough to say, without applying this poetical rhapsody to Aouda,
that she was a charming woman, in all the European acceptation of the
phrase.  She spoke English with great purity, and the guide had not
exaggerated in saying that the young Parsee had been transformed by her
bringing up.

The train was about to start from Allahabad, and Mr. Fogg proceeded to
pay the guide the price agreed upon for his service, and not a farthing
more; which astonished Passepartout, who remembered all that his master
owed to the guide's devotion.  He had, indeed, risked his life in the
adventure at Pillaji, and, if he should be caught afterwards by the
Indians, he would with difficulty escape their vengeance.  Kiouni,
also, must be disposed of.  What should be done with the elephant,
which had been so dearly purchased?  Phileas Fogg had already
determined this question.

"Parsee," said he to the guide, "you have been serviceable and devoted.
I have paid for your service, but not for your devotion.  Would you
like to have this elephant?  He is yours."

The guide's eyes glistened.

"Your honour is giving me a fortune!" cried he.

"Take him, guide," returned Mr. Fogg, "and I shall still be your
debtor."

"Good!" exclaimed Passepartout.  "Take him, friend.  Kiouni is a brave
and faithful beast."  And, going up to the elephant, he gave him
several lumps of sugar, saying, "Here, Kiouni, here, here."

The elephant grunted out his satisfaction, and, clasping Passepartout
around the waist with his trunk, lifted him as high as his head.
Passepartout, not in the least alarmed, caressed the animal, which
replaced him gently on the ground.

Soon after, Phileas Fogg, Sir Francis Cromarty, and Passepartout,
installed in a carriage with Aouda, who had the best seat, were
whirling at full speed towards Benares.  It was a run of eighty miles,
and was accomplished in two hours.  During the journey, the young woman
fully recovered her senses.  What was her astonishment to find herself
in this carriage, on the railway, dressed in European habiliments, and
with travellers who were quite strangers to her!  Her companions first
set about fully reviving her with a little liquor, and then Sir Francis
narrated to her what had passed, dwelling upon the courage with which
Phileas Fogg had not hesitated to risk his life to save her, and
recounting the happy sequel of the venture, the result of
Passepartout's rash idea.  Mr. Fogg said nothing; while Passepartout,
abashed, kept repeating that "it wasn't worth telling."

Aouda pathetically thanked her deliverers, rather with tears than
words; her fine eyes interpreted her gratitude better than her lips.
Then, as her thoughts strayed back to the scene of the sacrifice, and
recalled the dangers which still menaced her, she shuddered with terror.

Phileas Fogg understood what was passing in Aouda's mind, and offered,
in order to reassure her, to escort her to Hong Kong, where she might
remain safely until the affair was hushed up--an offer which she
eagerly and gratefully accepted.  She had, it seems, a Parsee relation,
who was one of the principal merchants of Hong Kong, which is wholly an
English city, though on an island on the Chinese coast.

At half-past twelve the train stopped at Benares.  The Brahmin legends
assert that this city is built on the site of the ancient Casi, which,
like Mahomet's tomb, was once suspended between heaven and earth;
though the Benares of to-day, which the Orientalists call the Athens of
India, stands quite unpoetically on the solid earth, Passepartout
caught glimpses of its brick houses and clay huts, giving an aspect of
desolation to the place, as the train entered it.

Benares was Sir Francis Cromarty's destination, the troops he was
rejoining being encamped some miles northward of the city.  He bade
adieu to Phileas Fogg, wishing him all success, and expressing the hope
that he would come that way again in a less original but more
profitable fashion.  Mr. Fogg lightly pressed him by the hand.  The
parting of Aouda, who did not forget what she owed to Sir Francis,
betrayed more warmth; and, as for Passepartout, he received a hearty
shake of the hand from the gallant general.

The railway, on leaving Benares, passed for a while along the valley of
the Ganges.  Through the windows of their carriage the travellers had
glimpses of the diversified landscape of Behar, with its mountains
clothed in verdure, its fields of barley, wheat, and corn, its jungles
peopled with green alligators, its neat villages, and its still
thickly-leaved forests.  Elephants were bathing in the waters of the
sacred river, and groups of Indians, despite the advanced season and
chilly air, were performing solemnly their pious ablutions.  These were
fervent Brahmins, the bitterest foes of Buddhism, their deities being
Vishnu, the solar god, Shiva, the divine impersonation of natural
forces, and Brahma, the supreme ruler of priests and legislators.  What
would these divinities think of India, anglicised as it is to-day, with
steamers whistling and scudding along the Ganges, frightening the gulls
which float upon its surface, the turtles swarming along its banks, and
the faithful dwelling upon its borders?

The panorama passed before their eyes like a flash, save when the steam
concealed it fitfully from the view; the travellers could scarcely
discern the fort of Chupenie, twenty miles south-westward from Benares,
the ancient stronghold of the rajahs of Behar; or Ghazipur and its
famous rose-water factories; or the tomb of Lord Cornwallis, rising on
the left bank of the Ganges; the fortified town of Buxar, or Patna, a
large manufacturing and trading-place, where is held the principal
opium market of India; or Monghir, a more than European town, for it is
as English as Manchester or Birmingham, with its iron foundries,
edgetool factories, and high chimneys puffing clouds of black smoke
heavenward.

Night came on; the train passed on at full speed, in the midst of the
roaring of the tigers, bears, and wolves which fled before the
locomotive; and the marvels of Bengal, Golconda ruined Gour,
Murshedabad, the ancient capital, Burdwan, Hugly, and the French town
of Chandernagor, where Passepartout would have been proud to see his
country's flag flying, were hidden from their view in the darkness.

Calcutta was reached at seven in the morning, and the packet left for
Hong Kong at noon; so that Phileas Fogg had five hours before him.

According to his journal, he was due at Calcutta on the 25th of
October, and that was the exact date of his actual arrival.  He was
therefore neither behind-hand nor ahead of time.  The two days gained
between London and Bombay had been lost, as has been seen, in the
journey across India.  But it is not to be supposed that Phileas Fogg
regretted them.

 The rash exploit had been accomplished; and for an hour Passepartout laughed gaily at his success. Sir Francis pressed the worthy fellows hand, and Fogg said, "Well done!" which, from him, was high commendation; to which Passepartout replied that all the credit of the affair belonged to Mr. Fogg. Meanwhile, the lady reposed in a howdah on the elephant. The elephant was advancing rapidly through the still dark forest, and, an hour after leaving the pagoda had crossed a vast plain. Sir Francis was not worried about the effects of intoxication on Aouda, which he knew would subsequently subside but he was more disturbed at the prospect of her future fate. He told Phileas Fogg that, should Aouda remain in India, she would inevitably fall again into the hands of her executioners and that it would be better to get her out of the country. Phileas Fogg replied that he would reflect upon the matter. The station at Allahabad was reached about ten oclock, and, the interrupted line of railway being resumed, would enable them to reach Calcutta in less than twenty-four hours. While the young woman waited at the station, Passepartout was charged with purchasing for her various articles of toilet, for which his master gave him unlimited credit. Passepartout made it a point, as he made his purchases, to take a good look at the city. The sacred city of Allahabad is described. By the time Passepartout returns to Aouda, the influence to which the priests of Pillaji had subjected Aouda began gradually to yield, and she became more herself, so that her fine eyes resumed all their soft Indian expression. It is enough to say, without applying poetical rhapsody to Aouda, that she was a charming woman, in all the European acceptation of the phrase. She spoke English with great purity, and the guide had not exaggerated in saying that the young Parsee had been transformed by her bringing up. The train was about to start from Allahabad, and Mr. Fogg proceeded to pay the guide, the price agreed upon for his service. The guide had, indeed, risked his life in the adventure at Pillaji, and, if the Indians should catch him afterwards, he would with difficulty escape their vengeance. Phileas Fogg had already determined the answer to the question of how to dispose off Kiouni, the elephant. He asks the Parsee whether he would like to keep the elephant. Passepartout encourages the giving of the elephant to the worthy guide, who is very happy. Soon after, Phileas Fogg, Sir Francis Cromarty, and Passepartout, installed in a carriage with Aouda, who had the best seat, were whirling at full speed towards Benares. During the journey, the young woman fully recovered her senses. Her companions revived her with a little liquor, and then Sir Francis narrated to her what had passed, dwelling upon the courage with which Phileas Fogg had not hesitated to risk his life to save her, and recounting the happy sequel of the venture, the result of Passepartouts rash idea. Aouda pathetically thanked her deliverers, her fine eyes interpreted her gratitude better than her lips. Fogg reassures her fears of the natives by offering to take her to Hong Kong where she has a relative too. At Benares, Sir Francis gets off after bidding a warm farewell to his companions. The areas that they are passing through are described beautifully by the author. The panorama passed before their eyes like a flash, save when the steam concealed it fitfully from the view. Calcutta was reached at seven in the morning, and they left for Hong Kong at noon; so that Phileas Fogg had five hours before him. According to his journal, he was due at Calcutta on the 25 th of October, and that was the exact date of his actual arrival. He was therefore neither behind-hand nor ahead of time. The two days gained between London and Bombay had been lost in the journey across India. But it is not to be supposed that Phileas Fogg regretted them.

