What was he doing
at this moment? I listened at the door of his room. I heard steps.
Captain Nemo was there. He had not gone to rest. At every moment
I expected to see him appear, and ask me why I wished to fly.
I was constantly on the alert. My imagination magnified everything.
The impression became at last so poignant that I asked myself if it
would not be better to go to the Captain's room, see him face to face,
and brave him with look and gesture.
It was the inspiration of a madman; fortunately I resisted the desire,
and stretched myself on my bed to quiet my bodily agitation.
My nerves were somewhat calmer, but in my excited brain I saw
over again all my existence on board the Nautilus; every incident,
either happy or unfortunate, which had happened since my disappearance
from the Abraham Lincoln--the submarine hunt, the Torres Straits,
the savages of Papua, the running ashore, the coral cemetery,
the passage of Suez, the Island of Santorin, the Cretan diver,
Vigo Bay, Atlantis, the iceberg, the South Pole, the imprisonment
in the ice, the fight among the poulps, the storm in the Gulf Stream,
the Avenger, and the horrible scene of the vessel sunk with all her crew.
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