dia started up; an
involuntary cry escaped her.

Michael Strogoff was there, a few steps from her. It was he. The dying
rays of the sun fell upon him.

At Nadia's cry Michael started. But he had sufficient command over
himself not to utter a word by which he might have been compromised. And
yet, when he saw Nadia, he also recognized his mother.

Feeling he could not long keep master of himself at this unexpected
meeting, he covered his eyes with his hands and walked quickly away.

Nadia's impulse was to run after him, but the old Siberian murmured in
her ear, "Stay, my daughter!"

"It is he!" replied Nadia, choking with emotion. "He lives, mother! It
is he!"

"It is my son," answered Marfa, "it is Michael Strogoff, and you see
that I do not make a step towards him! Imitate me, my daughter."

Michael had just experienced the most violent emotion which a man can
feel. His mother and Nadia were there!

The two prisoners who were always together in his heart, God had brought
them together in this common misfortune. Did Nadia know who he was? Yes,
for he had seen Marfa's gesture, holding her back as she was about to
rush towards him. Marfa, then, had understood all, and kept his secret.

During that night, Michael was twenty times on the point of looking for
and joining his mother; but he knew that he must resist the longing he
felt to take her in his arms, and once more press the hand of his young
companion. The least imprudence might be fatal. He had besides sworn not
to see his mother. Once at Tomsk, since he could not escape this very
night, he would set off without having even embraced the two beings
in whom all the happiness of his life was centered, and whom he should
leave exposed to so many perils.

Michael hoped that this fresh meeting at the Zabediero camp would have
no disastrous consequences either to his mother or to himself. But he
did not know that part of this scene, although it passed so rapidly, had
been observed by Sangarre, Ogareff's spy.

The Tsigane was there, a few paces off, on the bank, as usual, watching
the old Siberian woman. She had not caught sight of Michael, for he
disappeared before she had time to look around; but the mother's gesture
as she kept back Nadia had not escaped her, and the look in Marfa's eyes
told her all.

It was now beyond doubt that Marfa Strogoff's son, the Czar's courier,
was at this moment in Zabediero, among Ivan Ogareff's prisoners.
Sangarre did not know