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Verne looked from Nemo to Caroline. Something in his chest constricted so tightly that he wondered if his heart might have stopped beating. “You . . . both . . . intend to stay together? Go off to some isolated, primitive place?”

“I have to, Jules,” Caroline answered. “Please understand. All your life you wanted to write books and plays -- and you have succeeded. Who could deny it? But all of my life I have dreamed of the freedom to write and play my own music, the freedom to choose.” She took a deep breath. “You have not had to live with the accusations and scorn of civilized society. This is my chance, Jules.” She took Nemo’s hand in hers. “This is my choice.”

Nemo looked at her, then back at Verne. “A world of adventure is waiting.”

#

Late at night, Jules Verne took his leave of the Nautilus, knowing he would never see either of his old friends again. He returned to his own yacht, where the agitated veterans received him as if he were a tortured and ill-treated prisoner-of-war. Verne refused to answer their questions, brushing them aside as he withdrew, sick-at-heart. The old men asked if he wanted to fire the little cannon himself, to celebrate, but he brushed them aside.

He watched the Nautilus cruise away from the Saint Michel. With bubbles of released air, the sub-marine sank out of sight and sailed away beneath the seas.

vii

At last, after waiting for most of their lives, Caroline and Nemo basked in the warmth of each other’s company.

They spoke little of their feelings at first, allowing themselves time to become reacquainted. They shared stories about their lives, the years they had spent apart. And as they talked, every movement, every expression or touch, communicated in a language more eloquent than words how much they cared for each other.

Their love, hidden for so long, had formed both a bond and a wall between them for most of their lives. The Nautilus crew, all of whom had known Nemo’s wife and son at Rurapente, kept their distance, but welcomed their captain’s restored spirits. Nemo’s heart had been in pain for years, ever since he had learned of Auda’s death,

But Caroline still did not know the fate of her husband.

Nemo guided the Nautilus north, beyond the coast of England and Scotland and into the Arctic Circle.

Gazing through the broad salon windows, Caroline recovered from her ordeal in the siege of Paris, nourished by a daily routine of calm and peace and rest. The lines of strain smoothed themselves from her face and, within days, she began to laugh again. To Nemo, her voice and her laughter was beautiful music aboard the sub-marine. Soon she even played on a wooden flute he gave her, performing some of her own melodies. Nemo vowed to obtain a pipe organ or pianoforte for her, so that she could play and play to her heart’s content. Perhaps he could even install it here in the salon. . . .

When they reached the frigid polar seas, the Nautilus dove beneath the shimmering icepack that surrounded the North Pole, and he ordered all the Nautilus’s powerful front lights turned on. Nemo called for Caroline to join him at the bridge.

“This may sadden you, but you have needed to see it for many years. I have no choice. You deserve to know, and without it, you and I will never be truly free to --” He paused, at a loss for words, and then simply took her hand. “Will you gaze with me upon one more secret?”

Her blue eyes widened with concern, but she squeezed his hand. He guided the Nautilus down to deep outcroppings of rock. As they came around a bend, the yellow cones of light fell upon the skeleton of a ship’s wooden hull like a beached whale. Caroline stiffened.

Preserved by the icy waters and the depths to which it had sunk, a wrecked sailing vessel had come to rest on the silty ocean floor. They could see the outline of its keel, the tall columns of its masts, even a few rotted shreds of sail and rigging rope.

“I’m sorry, Caroline,” Nemo said.

The Nautilus cruised around the sunken wreck. After so much