Paganel was grandiloquent. He spoke with a lofty animation, and was carried away in the rapid flight of imagination. It would have been as impossible to check him as to stay the Rhine at the Falls of Schaffhausen.
“Monsieur Jacques Paganel,” said Lord Glenarvan, after a moment of silence, “that is certainly a fine voyage, and one for which science would be very grateful; but I will not further prolong your ignorance. For the present, you must give up the pleasure of seeing India.”
“Give it up! And why?”
“Because you are turning your back upon the Indian peninsula.”
“How? Captain Burton—”
“I am not Captain Burton,” replied John Mangles.
“But the Scotia?”
“This vessel is not the Scotia.”
Paganel’s amazement cannot be depicted. He looked first at Lord Glenarvan, always serious; then at Lady Helena and Miss Grant, whose features expressed a sympathetic disappointment; and finally at Captain Mangles, who was smiling, and the imperturbable major. Then, raising his shoulders and drawing down his glasses from his forehead to his eyes, he exclaimed—
“What a joke!”
But at that his eyes fell upon the steering wheel, on which were inscribed these two words, thus:
“The Duncan! the Duncan!” he cried in a tone of real despair; and, leaping down the companionway, he rushed to his cabin.
When the unfortunate geographer had disappeared, no one on board, except the major, could retain gravity, and the laugh was communicated even to the sailors. To mistake the railroad was not so bad; to take the train to Dumbarton, instead of Edinburgh, would do. But to mistake the vessel, and be sailing to Chile, when he wished to go to India, was the height of absentmindedness.
“On the whole, I am not astonished at this on the part of Jacques Paganel,” said Glenarvan; “he is noted for such blunders. He once published a celebrated map of America, in which he located Japan. However, he is a distinguished scholar, and one of the best geographers of France.”
“But what are we going to do with the poor gentleman?” asked Lady Helena. “We cannot take him to Patagonia.”
“Why not?” replied MacNabb gravely. “We are not responsible for his errors. Suppose he were in a railroad car, would it stop for him?”
“No; but he could get out at the first station,” answered Lady Helena.
“Well,” said Glenarvan, “he can do so now, if he pleases, at our first landing.”
At this moment Paganel, woeful and humble, reappeared on deck, after convincing himself that his baggage was on board. He kept repeating those fatal words: “The Duncan! the Duncan!” He could find no others in his vocabulary. He went to and fro, examining the rigging of the yacht, and questioning the mute horizon of the open sea. At last he returned to Lord Glenarvan.
“And this Duncan is going—?” he asked.
“To America, Monsieur Paganel.”
“And where especially?”
“To Concepcion.”
“To Chile! to Chile!” cried the unfortunate geographer. “And my mission to India! But what will M. de Quatrefages say, the President of the Central Commission? How shall I represent myself at the sessions of the Society?”
“Come, monsieur,” said Glenarvan, “do not despair. Everything can be arranged, and you will only have to submit to a delay of little consequence. The Yaroo-tsang-bo-tsoo will wait for you in the mountains of Tibet. We shall soon reach Madeira, and there you will find a vessel to take you back to Europe.”
“I thank you, my lord, and must be resigned. But we can say this is an extraordinary adventure, which would not have happened but for me. And my cabin which is engaged on board the Scotia?”
“Oh, as for the Scotia, I advise you to give her up for the present.”
“But,” said Paganel after examining the vessel again, “the Duncan is a pleasure yacht.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Captain Mangles, “and belongs to his lordship, Lord Glenarvan—”
“Who begs you to make free use of his hospitality,” said Glenarvan.
“A thousand thanks, my lord,” replied Paganel; “I am truly sensible to your courtesy. But permit me to make a simple remark. India is a beautiful country. It offers marvelous surprises to travelers. These ladies have probably never visited it. Well, the man at the helm needs only to give a turn to the wheel, and the Duncan will go as easily to Calcutta as Concepcion. Now, since this is a pleasure voyage—”
The negative reception that met Paganel’s proposal did not permit him to develop it. He paused.
“Monsieur Paganel,” said Lady Helena at length, “if this were only a pleasure voyage, I would answer: ‘Let us all go to India,’ and Lord Glenarvan would not disapprove. But the Duncan is going to recover some shipwrecked sailors, abandoned on the coast of Patagonia; and she cannot change so humane a course.”
In a few moments the Frenchman was acquainted with the situation of affairs, and learned, not without emotion, the providential discovery of the documents, the story of Captain Grant, and Lady Helena’s generous proposal.
“Madam,” said he, “permit me to admire your conduct in all this, and to admire it without reserve. May your yacht continue on her course; I would reproach myself for delaying her a single day.”
“Will you then join in our search?” asked Lady Helena.
“It is impossible, madam; I must fulfil my mission. I shall disembark at your first landing.”
“At Madeira then,” said Captain Mangles.
“At Madeira let it be. I shall be only one hundred and eighty leagues from Lisbon, and will wait there for means of further conveyance.”
“Well, Monsieur Paganel,” said Glenarvan, “it shall be as you desire; and, for my part, I am happy that I can offer you for a few days the hospitalities of my vessel. May you not grow weary of our company.”
“Oh, my lord,” exclaimed the geographer, “I am still too happy in being so agreeably disappointed. However, it is a very ludicrous situation for a man who takes passage for India, and is sailing
