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Page 4
If to live in this style is to be eccentric, it must be
confessed that there is something good in eccentricity.
The mansion in Saville Row, though not sumptuous, was exceedingly comfortable.
The habits of its occupant were such as to demand but little from the
sole domestic, but Phileas Fogg required him to be almost superhumanly
prompt and regular. On this very 2nd of October he had dismissed
James Forster, because that luckless youth had brought him shaving-water
at eighty-four degrees Fahrenheit instead of eighty-six;
and he was awaiting his successor, who was due at the house
between eleven and half-past.
Phileas Fogg was seated squarely in his armchair, his feet close together
like those of a grenadier on parade, his hands resting on his knees,
his body straight, his head erect; he was steadily watching a complicated
clock which indicated the hours, the minutes, the seconds, the days,
the months, and the years. At exactly half-past eleven Mr. Fogg would,
according to his daily habit, quit Saville Row, and repair to the Reform.
A rap at this moment sounded on the door of the cosy apartment where
Phileas Fogg was seated, and James Forster, the dismissed servant, appeared.
"The new servant," said he.
A young man of thirty advanced and bowed.
"You are a Frenchman, I believe," asked Phileas Fogg, "and your name is John?"
"Jean, if monsieur pleases," replied the newcomer, "Jean Passepartout,
a surname which has clung to me because I have a natural aptness
for going out of one business into another. I believe I'm honest,
monsieur, but, to be outspoken, I've had several trades. I've been
an itinerant singer, a circus-rider, when I used to vault like Leotard,
and dance on a rope like Blondin. Then I got to be a professor of gymnastics,
so as to make better use of my talents; and then I was a sergeant fireman
at Paris, and assisted at many a big fire. But I quitted France
five years ago, and, wishing to taste the sweets of domestic life,
took service as a valet here in England. Finding myself out of place,
and hearing that Monsieur Phileas Fogg was the most exact and settled
gentleman in the United Kingdom, I have come to monsieur in the hope
of living with him a tranquil life, and forgetting even the name
of Passepartout."
"Passepartout suits me," responded Mr. Fogg. "You are well recommended
to me; I hear a good report of you. You know my conditions?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"Good! What time is it?"
"Twenty-two minutes after eleven," returned Passepartout,
drawing an enormous silver watch from the depths of his pocket.
"You are too slow," said Mr. Fogg.
"Pardon me, monsieur, it is impossible--"
"You are four minutes too slow. No matter; it's enough to mention
the error. Now from this moment, twenty-nine minutes after eleven, a.m.,
this Wednesday, 2nd October, you are in my service."
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.
Passepartout heard the street door shut once; it was his new
master going out. He heard it shut again; it was his predecessor,
James Forster, departing in his turn. Passepartout remained
alone in the house in Saville Row.
Chapter II
IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT IS CONVINCED THAT HE HAS AT LAST FOUND HIS IDEAL
"Faith," muttered Passepartout, somewhat flurried, "I've seen people
at Madame Tussaud's as lively as my new master!"
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