Then things took place on board which, to say the least, were singular, and which ought not to be seen by people who were not placed beyond the pale of social laws. Amongst the surprises which the future was preparing for me, this might not be the least. “We accept,” I answered; “only I will ask your permission, sir, to address one question to you—one only.” “Speak, sir.” “You said that we should be free on board.” “Entirely.” “I ask you, then, what you mean by this liberty?” “Just the liberty to go, to come, to see, to observe even all that passes here,—save under rare circumstances,—the liberty, in short, which we enjoy ourselves, my companions and I.” It was evident that we did not understand one another. “Pardon me, sir,” I resumed, “but this liberty is only what every prisoner has of pacing his prison. It cannot suffice us.” “It must suffice you, however.” “What! we must renounce for ever seeing our country, our friends, our relations again?” “Yes, sir. But to renounce that unendurable worldly yoke which men believe to be liberty, is not perhaps so painful as you think.” “Well,” exclaimed Ned Land, “never will I give my word of honour not to try to escape.” “I did not ask you for your word of honour, Master Land,” answered the commander, coldly. “Sir,” I replied, beginning to get angry in spite of myself, “you abuse your situation towards us; it is cruelty.” “No, sir, it is clemency. You are my prisoners of war. I keep you, when I could, by a word, plunge you into the depths of the ocean. You attacked me. You came to surprise a secret which no man in the world must penetrate,—the secret of my whole existence. And you think that I am going to send you back to that world which must know me no more? Never! In retaining you, it is not you whom I guard—it is myself.” These words indicated a resolution taken on the part of the commander, against which no arguments would prevail. “So, sir,” I rejoined, “you give us simply the choice between life and death?” “Simply.” “My friends,” said I, “to a question thus put, there is nothing to answer. But no word of honour binds us to the master of this vessel.” “None, sir,” answered the Unknown. Then, in a gentler tone, he continued— “Now, permit me to finish what I have to say to you. I know you, M. Aronnax. You and your companions will not, perhaps, have so much to complain of in the chance which has bound you to my fate. You will find amongst the books which are my favourite study the work which you have published on ‘the depths of the sea.’ I have often read it. You have carried out your work as far as terrestrial science permitted you. But you do not know all—you have not seen all. Let me tell you then, Professor, that you will not regret the time passed on board my vessel. You are going to visit the land of marvels.”