"Really Phileas," Rebecca remarked as Jules stalked off,"In the future, do try to be nicer to our geniuses, will you? They are rather important to national security, you know. It'd be nice to have them on our side." Passepartout suppressed a laugh at her sarcasm, he often enjoyed the cousins' interactions knowing his master, more often than not, lost to the unyielding Rebecca.
"And if our geniuses prefer to throw their talent away on manuscripts and theatre? Are we to stand by and be civil?" Phileas retorted
"Monsieur Verne not throwing his talent away, Master. His writing quite good," Passepartout interjected.
"And maybe if you'd be a bit more attentive Fogg, you'd of noticed that," Rebecca admonished,"It doesn't take to much work to pay attention to your friend's passion. Probably less work than telling him off."
"Me is thinking Master might owe Monsieur Verne an apology," Passepartout commented cautiously.
"Is that what your thinking? That I ought to say I'm sorry for telling him writing's a waste of time? And what if it is?"
"You'll see in a couple of years Phileas just whether or not Jules was wasting his time. But I suppose if you refuse to apologize, you might not see Verne for a few years anyway."
Frustrated with the way Passepartout and his cousin were teaming up against him, he crossed his arms defiantly. Though, with one more disapproving look from Rebecca and a guilt giving glance from his valet, he'd gone to gather his overcoat and depart for Paris.
* * * * *
Her hair and fallen from her face and Verne could see her a bit more clearly now. "You, you, you know who I am?" he asked uncertainly.
"I can't be here, they'll only find me again, what am I to do then? You, Verne, they'll find you too," her eyes darted about the room as she spoke. As she was throwing off the blankets, the door to his apartment creaked open on its hinges. Jules, startled at what he'd just been told, panicked as the light from the hallway spilled into the room. The girl snatched at the heavy candlestick beside the bed and held it tightly in defence.
"Verne?" Phileas' voice carried through the dark, he was quite confused at the sight before him. Just then the candlestick came hurling across the room at Phileas. Jules, alarmed, grabbed the girl's arms and held her tightly.
"You have to let me go," she begged as she squirmed in his grasp,"They're going to come!"
"Verne? Verne? What in heaven's name is going on?" Phileas repeated,"Who is that?" Breaking free of his hold, she stumbled to the door, running into Fogg in the doorway. For an instant she stared up at him in fear, long enough for him to get a good look at her. Stunned, he didn't try to stop her as she lurched down the steps out onto the street.
"Verne," he said again, his tone much more subdued,"I know her."
* * * * *
"We've a brand new assignment and off he goes on a vacation to Paris, really Passepartout, I think Phileas is out of order," Rebecca mumbled as she stood beside the valet at the wheel of the Aurora.
"Miss Rebecca, was it not you telling Master to go to Paris?" Passepartout asked.
"Well of course it was me, but whether or not my cousin actually listens to me is his own choice," she replied curtly, determined to place the blame upon her cousin's shoulders.
"Yes, Miss Rebecca," he gave up the argument and returned to navigating the Aurora.
* * * * *
Forgetting his initial intent to apologize, Phileas was poised at the doorway in thought. Jules approached him from the far side of the chamber,"Who is she then? And what is it she's so afraid of?"
"I'm not sure Verne, but I know I've seen her somewhere before."
"She said I should be afraid also Fogg, what do you think she meant?"
"I haven't a clue, who knows what you may have brought in off the street or what madness she may have been babbling. There was something I recognized about her though."
"Do you smell that Fogg? A chemical of some sort," Jules interrupted, sniffing the air.
"Yes in fact, I do detect a scent of…," he inhaled deeply,"Something strange to be sure. But your right, it smells faintly of a chemical compound."
"I think I've found it…" Jules bent down to pick up the candlestick with a handkerchief,"It's the one she threw at you, the smell seems to be coming from it."
"It does indeed," remarked Phileas, as he examined it himself,"She must have had it on her hands unless you've been experimenting yourself."
"No, chemicals are a bit too volatile for me. The scent though, is faintly on my clothes as well, probably from when I carried her in."
"If she was simply a street rat, she wouldn't have had access to what I think I'm smelling. And the scent is familiar also, the face and now this smell." His brows furrowed as he racked his brains. "Jules, I think I remember from where I know these things. But, no, it certainly can't be…"