Phileas Fogg and Fix were roughly hustled in their attempts to protect their fair companion; the former, as cool as ever, tried to defend himself with the weapons which nature has placed at the end of every Englishman's arm, but in vain.

A big brawny fellow with a red beard, flushed face, and broad shoulders, who seemed to be the chief of the band, raised his clenched fist to strike Mr.Fogg, whom he would have given a crushing blow, had not Fix rushed in and received it in his stead.

An enormous bruise immediately made its appearance under the detective's silk hat, which was completely smashed in.
"Yankee!" exclaimed Mr.Fogg, darting a contemptuous look at the ruffian.
"Englishman!" returned the other.

"We will meet again!" "When you please." "What is your name ?" "Phileas Fogg.

And yours ?" "Colonel Stamp Proctor." The human tide now swept by, after overturning Fix, who speedily got upon his feet again, though with tattered clothes.