stened.

"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 so