"Don't be in a hurry," said Mr. Fogg. "It will suit me well enough if we reach Allahabad at mid-day." "But what do you expect to do if we remain here?" said Sir Francis. "It will be daylight in a couple of hours, and--" "We may get a chance at the last moment." The brigadier would have liked to have been able to read the expression of Mr. Fogg's face. What was he thinking about, this cool-headed Englishman? Would he, at the last moment, throw himself upon the burning pile, and snatch her from the clutches of her executioners openly? Such a proceeding would have been the height of folly, and no one could for a moment imagine that Mr. Fogg was so foolhardy as that. Nevertheless, Sir Francis consented to wait the _dénouement_ of this terrible scene. But the guide led the party to the edge of the clearing, where, from behind a thicket, they could observe all the proceedings. Meanwhile, Passe-partout had been hatching a project in his busy brain, and at last the idea came forth like a flash of lightning. His first conception of the notion he had repudiated as ridiculously foolish, but at length he began to look upon the project as feasible. "It is a chance," he muttered, "but perhaps the only one with such bigoted idiots." At any rate he wriggled himself to the end of the lowest branch of a tree, the extremity of which almost touched the ground. The hours passed slowly on, and at length some faint indications of day became visible in the sky. But it was still quite dark in the neighbourhood of the pagoda. This was the time chosen for the sacrifice. The sleeping groups arose as if the resurrection had arrived. The tom-toms sounded. Chants and cries were once more heard. The sublime moment had come! Just then the doors of the pagoda were opened, and a strong light flashed out from the interior. The victim could be perceived being dragged by two priests to the door. It appeared to the spectators that the unhappy woman, having shaken off the effects of her enforced intoxication, was endeavouring to escape from her executioners. Sir Francis Cromarty was deeply agitated, and seizing Mr. Fogg's hand convulsively he perceived that the hand grasped an open knife. The crowd now began to move about. The young woman had been again stupefied with hemp-fumes, and passed between the lines of fakirs who escorted her, uttering wild cries as they proceeded. Phileas Fogg and his companions followed on the outskirts of the crowd. Two minutes later they reached the bank of the stream, and stopped about fifty paces from the funeral pyre, upon which the corpse was extended. In the dim religious light, they could perceive the outline of the victim close beside her deceased husband. A lighted torch was then quickly applied to the pile of wood, which, saturated with oil, was instantly in a blaze. Sir Francis Cromarty and the guide had to exert all their strength to restrain Mr. Fogg, who, in his generous indignation, appeared about to rush upon the blazing pile.