Chapter 15
An Invitation in WritingTHE NEXT DAY, November 9, I woke up only after a long,
twelve–hour slumber. Conseil, a creature of habit, came to ask "how
master's night went," and to offer his services. He had left his
Canadian friend sleeping like a man who had never done anything
else.
I let the gallant lad babble as he pleased, without giving him
much in the way of a reply. I was concerned about Captain Nemo's
absence during our session the previous afternoon, and I hoped to
see him again today.
Soon I had put on my clothes, which were woven from strands of
seashell tissue. More than once their composition provoked comments
from Conseil. I informed him that they were made from the smooth,
silken filaments with which the fan mussel, a type of seashell
quite abundant alo
