Thus, in the midst of this great sea,
Captain Nemo's life was passing, even to his grave, which he had
prepared in one of its deepest abysses. There, not one of the ocean's
monsters could trouble the last sleep of the crew of the Nautilus,
of those friends riveted to each other in death as in life.
"Nor any man, either," had added the Captain. Still the same fierce,
implacable defiance towards human society!
I could no longer content myself with the theory which satisfied Conseil.
That worthy fellow persisted in seeing in the Commander of
the Nautilus one of those unknown servants who return mankind
contempt for indifference. For him, he was a misunderstood
genius who, tired of earth's deceptions, had taken refuge in this
inaccessible medium, where he might follow his instincts freely.
To my mind, this explains but one side of Captain Nemo's character.
Indeed, the mystery of that last night during which we had been
chained in prison, the sleep, and the precaution so violently
taken by the Captain of snatching from my eyes the glass I
had raised to sweep the horizon, the mortal wound of the man,
due to an unaccountable shock of the Nautilus, all put me on a
new track.
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