THE train had started punctually. Among the pas-
sengers were a number of officers, Government offi-
cials, and opium and indigo merchants, whose business
called them to the eastern coast. Passepartout rode
in the same carriage with his master, and a third pas-
senger occupied a seat opposite to them. This was Sir
Francis Cromarty, one of Mr. Fogg's whist partners
on the "Mongolia," now on his way to join his corps
at Benares. Sir Francis was a tall, fair man of fifty,
who had greatly distinguished himself in the last
Sepoy revolt. He made India his home, only paying
brief visits to England at rare intervals; and was
almost as familiar as a native with the customs, his-
tory, and character of India and its people. But
Phileas Fogg, who was not travelling, but only de-
scribing a circumference, took no pains to inquire into
these subjects; he was a solid body, traversing an orbit
around the terrestrial globe, according to the laws of
rational mechanics. He was at this moment calcu-
lating in his mind the number of hours spent since his

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