His countenance possessed in the highest degree what physiognomists call "repose in action," a quality of those who act rather than talk.

He appeared to be a man about forty years of age, with fine, handsome features, and a tall, well-shaped figure; his hair and whiskers were light, his forehead compact and unwrinkled, his face rather pale, his teeth magnificent.

During his brief interview with Mr. Fogg, Passepartout had been carefully observing him.

Madame Tussaud's "people," let it be said, are of wax, and are much visited in London; speech is all that is wanting to make them human.

"Faith," muttered Passepartout, somewhat flurried, "I've seen people at Madame Tussaud's as lively as my new master!"

Passepartout remained alone in the house in Saville Row.

He heard it shut again; it was his predecessor, James Forster, departing in his turn.

Passepartout heard the street door shut once; it was his new master going out.

Phileas Fogg got up, took his hat in his left hand, put it on his head with an automatic motion, and went off without a word.

Now from this moment, twenty-nine minutes after eleven, a.m., this Wednesday, 2nd October, you are in my service."

"You are four minutes too slow. No matter; it's enough to mention the error.

The guards who followed the young woman presented a violent contrast to her, armed as they were with naked sabres hung at their waists, and long damascened pistols, and bearing a corpse on a palanquin.

Her head and neck, shoulders, ears, arms, hands, and toes were loaded down with jewels and gems with bracelets, earrings, and rings; while a tunic bordered with gold, and covered with a light muslin robe, betrayed the outline of her form.

Some Brahmins, clad in all the sumptuousness of Oriental apparel, and leading a woman who faltered at every step, followed.

The Parsee made a motion to keep silence.

The two combatants, their seconds, and the conductor passed through the cars to the rear of the train.

So muttering, he followed his master.

"Well, we are really in America," thought Passepartout, "and the conductor is a gentleman of the first order!"

"It would be perfectly so," replied Phileas Fogg.

"That wouldn't be convenient, perhaps, for this gentleman," said the colonel, in a jeering tone.