Suddenly there was daylight in the saloon, the iron panels closed again, and the enchanting vision disappeared. But for a long time I dreamt on till my eyes fell on the instruments hanging on the partition. The compass still showed the course to be N.N.E., the manometer indicated a pressure of five atmospheres, equivalent to a depth of twenty-five fathoms, and the electric log gave a speed of fifteen miles an hour. I expected Captain Nemo, but he did not appear. The clock marked the hour of five. Ned Land and Conseil returned to their cabin, and I retired to my chamber. My dinner was ready. It was composed of turtle soup made of the most delicate hawksbills, of a surmullet served with puff paste (the liver of which, prepared by itself, was most delicious), and fillets of the emperor-holocanthus, the savour of which seemed to me superior even to salmon. I passed the evening reading, writing, and thinking. Then sleep overpowered me, and I stretched myself on my couch of zostera, and slept profoundly, whilst the _Nautilus_ was gliding rapidly through the current of the Black River. CHAPTER XIV A NOTE OF INVITATION The next day was the 9th of November. I awoke after a long sleep of twelve hours. Conseil came, according to custom, to know “how I had passed the night,” and to offer his services. He had left his friend the Canadian sleeping like a man who had never done anything else all his life. I let the worthy fellow chatter as he pleased, without caring to answer him. I was pre-occupied by the absence of the Captain during our sitting of the day before, and hoping to see him to-day. As soon as I was dressed I went into the saloon. It was deserted. I plunged into the study of the shell treasures hidden behind the glasses. I revelled also in great herbals filled with the rarest marine plants, which, although dried up, retained their lovely colours. Amongst these precious hydrophytes I remarked some vorticellæ, pavonariæ, delicate ceramies with scarlet tints, some fan-shaped agari, and some natabuli like flat mushrooms, which at one time used to be classed as zoophytes; in short, a perfect series of algæ. The whole day passed without my being honoured by a visit from Captain Nemo. The panels of the saloon did not open. Perhaps they did not wish us to tire of these beautiful things. The course of the _Nautilus_ was E.N.E., her speed twelve knots, the depth below the surface between twenty-five and thirty fathoms. The next day, 10th of November, the same desertion, the same solitude. I did not see one of the ship’s crew: Ned and Conseil spent the greater part of the day with me. They were astonished at the inexplicable absence of the Captain. Was this singular man ill?—had he altered his intentions with regard to us?