and in ten minutes they found themselves on the banks of a small stream,
whence, by the light of the rosin torches, they perceived a pyre of wood,
on the top of which lay the embalmed body of the rajah, which was to be
burned with his wife. The pagoda, whose minarets loomed above the trees
in the deepening dusk, stood a hundred steps away.

"Come!" whispered the guide.

He slipped more cautiously than ever through the brush,
followed by his companions; the silence around was only broken
by the low murmuring of the wind among the branches.

Soon the Parsee stopped on the borders of the glade, which was lit up
by the torches. The ground was covered by groups of the Indians,
motionless in their drunken sleep; it seemed a battlefield strewn
with the dead. Men, women, and children lay together.

In the background, among the trees, the pagoda of Pillaji
loomed distinctly. Much to the guide's disappointment,
the guards of the rajah, lighted by torches, were watching
at the doors and marching to and fro with naked sabres;
probably the priests, too, were watching within.

The Parsee, now convinced that it was impossible to force
an entrance to the temple, advanced no farther, but led his
companions back again. Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty
also saw that nothing could be attempted in that direction.
They stopped, and engaged in a whispered colloquy.

"It is only eight now," said the brigadier, "and these guards
may also go to sleep."

"It is not impossible," returned the Parsee.

They lay down at the foot of a tree, and waited.

The time seemed long; the guide ever and anon left them
to take an observation on the edge of the wood, but the guards
watched steadily by the glare of the torches, and a dim light
crept through the windows of the pagoda.

They waited till midnight; but no change took place among the guards,
and it became apparent that their yielding to sleep could not be counted on.
The other plan must be carried out; an opening in the walls of the pagoda
must be made. It remained to ascertain whether the priests were watching
by the side of their victim as assiduously as were the soldiers at the door.

After a last consultation, the guide announced that he was ready
for the attempt, and advanced, followed by the others. They took
a roundabout way, so as to get at the pagoda on the rear.
They reached the walls about half-past twelve, without having met anyone;
here there was no guard, nor were there either windows or doors.

The night was dark. The moon, on the wane, scarcely left the horizon,
and was covered with heavy clouds; the height of the trees deepened
the darkness.

It was not enough to reach the walls; an opening in them must
be accomplished, and to attain this purpose the party only had
their pocket-knives. Happily the temple walls were built of brick
and wood, which could be penetrated with little difficulty;
after one brick had been taken out, the rest would yield easily.

They set noiselessly to work, and the Parsee on one side
and Passepartout on the other began to loosen the bricks
so as to make an aperture two feet wide. They were getting on rapidly,
when suddenly a cry was heard in the interior of the temple,
followed almost instantly by other cries replying from the outside.
Passepartout and the guide stopped. Had they been heard? Was the
alarm being given? Common prudence urged them to retire, and they
did so, followed by Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis. They again hid
themselves in the wood, and waited till the disturbance, whatever
it might be, ceased, holding themselves ready to resume their attempt
without delay. But, awkwardly enough, the guards now appeared
at the rear of the temple, and there installed themselves,
in readiness to prevent a surprise.

It would be difficult to describe the disappointment of the party,
thus interrupted in their work. They could not now reach the victim;
how, then, could they save her? Sir Francis shook his fists,
Passepartout was beside himself, and the guide gnashed his teeth with rage.
The tranquil Fogg waited, without betraying any emotion.

"We have nothing to do but to go away," whispered Sir Francis.

"Nothing but to go away," echoed the guide.

"Stop," said Fogg. "I am only due at Allahabad tomorrow before noon."

"But what can you hope to do?" asked Sir Francis. "In a few hours
it will be daylight, and--"

"The chance which now seems lost may present itself at the last moment."

Sir Francis would have liked to read Phileas Fogg's eyes.
What was this cool Englishman thinking of? Was he planning
to make a rush for the young woman at the very moment
of the sacrifice, and boldly snatch her from her executioners?

This would be utter folly, and it was hard to admit that Fogg


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