The captain had resumed his position on the divan, and leaning on his arm, he regarded the engineer, seated near him.
“You know the name I formerly bore, sir?” he asked.
“I do,” answered Cyrus Harding, “and also that of this wonderful submarine vessel—”
“The ‘Nautilus’?” said the captain, with a faint smile.
“The ‘Nautilus.’”
“But do you—do you know who I am?”
“I do.”
“It is nevertheless many years since I have held any communication with the inhabited world; three long years have I passed in the depth of the sea, the only place where I have found liberty! Who then can have betrayed my secret?”
“A man who was bound to you by no tie, Captain Nemo, and who, consequently, cannot be accused of treachery.”
“The Frenchman who was cast on board my vessel by chance sixteen years since?”