At the start of Phileas's journey, he arrived in Paris—and what a time to be there! A revolution was underway. Jean Passepartout, his servant and a native of France, quipped, “When isn’t there a revolution?” Jean was already unhappy about the addition of journalist Abigail Fix, the daughter of Bernard Fortescue, a friend of Phileas. Now, he felt burdened by the task of babysitting a grown woman as well.

As Jean and Abigail left the carriage to seek directions and a way out of the chaotic crowd, Phileas remained behind. The carriage, stuck and immobile amidst the commotion, offered little refuge. "Might as well be a house," he muttered to himself.

His thoughts were interrupted by giggles and snickering, followed by the excited voices of children. Peering outside, he spotted a group of children making off with his luggage.

"Hey!" he shouted, scrambling out of the carriage and chasing after them. But the children were swift, darting through the streets and up a staircase in front of a church. Phileas, several years their senior and already winded, struggled to keep up as they scattered his belongings among themselves.

"No, no, give me that!" Phileas cried, finding himself in the midst of the children. He darted from one to another, trying desperately to retrieve his possessions. The children laughed, tossing his items back and forth as though playing a game. "No, please!" he begged, watching helplessly as his valuables and cherished belongings were trampled underfoot.

Eventually, the children ran off, giggling as they disappeared into the distance. Left behind, Phileas dropped to his knees, defeated, gathering what remained of his belongings. As he crouched there, his hands shaking with frustration, he sensed someone standing near him. But he couldn’t muster the energy to look up just yet.