nized me as the man whom
she saw at Nijni-Novgorod? These confounded Tsiganes have the eyes of a
cat! They can see in the dark; and that woman there might well know--"

Michael Strogoff was on the point of following Sangarre and the gypsy
band, but he stopped. "No," thought he, "no unguarded proceedings. If
I were to stop that old fortune teller and his companions my incognito
would run a risk of being discovered. Besides, now they have landed,
before they can pass the frontier I shall be far beyond it. They may
take the route from Kasan to Ishim, but that affords no resources to
travelers. Besides a tarantass, drawn by good Siberian horses, will
always go faster than a gypsy cart! Come, friend Korpanoff, be easy."

By this time the man and Sangarre had disappeared.

Kasan is justly called the "Gate of Asia" and considered as the center
of Siberian and Bokharian commerce; for two roads begin here and lead
across the Ural Mountains. Michael Strogoff had very judiciously chosen
the one by Perm and Ekaterenburg. It is the great stage road, well
supplied with relays kept at the expense of the government, and is
prolonged from Ishim to Irkutsk.

It is true that a second route--the one of which Michael had just
spoken--avoiding the slight detour by Perm, also connects Kasan with
Ishim. It is perhaps shorter than the other, but this advantage is much
diminished by the absence of post-houses, the bad roads, and lack of
villages. Michael Strogoff was right in the choice he had made, and if,
as appeared probable, the gipsies should follow the second route from
Kasan to Ishim, he had every chance of arriving before them.

An hour afterwards the bell rang on board the Caucasus, calling the new
passengers, and recalling the former ones. It was now seven o'clock in
the morning. The requisite fuel had been received on board. The whole
vessel began to vibrate from the effects of the steam. She was ready to
start. Passengers going from Kasan to Perm were crowding on the deck.

Michael noticed that of the two reporters Blount alone had rejoined the
steamer. Was Alcide Jolivet about to miss his passage?

But just as the ropes were being cast off, Jolivet appeared, tearing
along. The steamer was already sheering off, the gangway had been drawn
onto the quay, but Alcide Jolivet would not stick at such a little thing
as that, so, with a bound like a harlequin, he alighted on the deck of
the Caucasus almost in his rival's arms.

"I th