levelled his glass in the direction indicated. He gazed for a long time steadily. I was now somewhat disturbed, and descending to the saloon, brought up an excellent telescope which I was in the habit of using. Then resting the glass upon the cage forward, I disposed myself to observe the sea and sky. But scarcely had I applied my eye to the telescope when it was snatched from my grasp. I turned round. Captain Nemo stood before me, but I scarcely recognised him. His face was completely altered. His eyes, flashing with a lurid light, glanced at me beneath his frowning brows. His mouth was half open, his body was rigid, his hands clenched, his head bowed between his shoulders—all bearing testimony to the violent emotion that possessed him. He did not move an inch. My glass, fallen from his hand, rolled to his feet. What had happened that I had thus unwittingly provoked his anger? Did he imagine that i had discovered some secret interdicted from the guests of the Nautilus?
No, I was not the object of his hatred, for he was not looking at me, but gazing steadily on the particular portion of the horizon.
At length he became calm, his face and figure resumed their usual impassibility. He spoke some words to the mate in the unknown tongue, and he then turned to me.
“M. Aronnax,” said he, in a somewhat haughty tone, “I would recall your attention to one of the conditions I imposed upon you.”
“What is the question, captain?”
“You and your companions must be content to be
