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His supper finished, Michael Strogoff, instead of going up to his bedroom,
again strolled out into the town. But, although the long twilight
yet lingered, the crowd was already dispersing, the streets were gradually
becoming empty, and at length everyone retired to his dwelling.
Why did not Michael Strogoff go quietly to bed, as would have seemed
more reasonable after a long railway journey? Was he thinking
of the young Livonian girl who had been his traveling companion?
Having nothing better to do, he WAS thinking of her. Did he fear that,
lost in this busy city, she might be exposed to insult? He feared so,
and with good reason. Did he hope to meet her, and, if need were,
to afford her protection? No. To meet would be difficult.
As to protection--what right had he--
"Alone," he said to himself, "alone, in the midst of these
wandering tribes! And yet the present dangers are nothing
compared to those she must undergo. Siberia! Irkutsk! I am
about to dare all risks for Russia, for the Czar, while she
is about to do so--For whom? For what? She is authorized
to cross the frontier! The country beyond is in revolt!
The steppes are full of Tartar bands!"
Michael Strogoff stopped for an instant, and reflected.
"Without doubt," thought he, "she must have determined on
undertaking her journey before the invasion. Perhaps she is
even now ignorant of what is happening. But no, that cannot be;
the merchants discussed before her the disturbances in Siberia--
and she did not seem surprised. She did not even ask an explanation.
She must have known it then, and knowing it, is still resolute.
Poor girl! Her motive for the journey must be urgent indeed!
But though she may be brave--and she certainly is so--her strength
must fail her, and, to say nothing of dangers and obstacles,
she will be unable to endure the fatigue of such a journey.
Never can she reach Irkutsk!"
Indulging in such reflections, Michael Strogoff wandered
on as chance led him; being well acquainted with the town,
he knew that he could easily retrace his steps.
Having strolled on for about an hour, he seated himself
on a bench against the wall of a large wooden cottage,
which stood, with many others, on a vast open space.
He had scarcely been there five minutes when a hand was laid
heavily on his shoulder.
"What are you doing here?" roughly demanded a tall and powerful man,
who had approached unperceived.
"I am resting," replied Michael Strogoff.
"Do you mean to stay all night on the bench?"
"Yes, if I feel inclined to do so," answered Michael Strogoff, in a tone
somewhat too sharp for the simple merchant he wished to personate.
"Come forward, then, so I can see you," said the man.
Michael Strogoff, remembering that, above all, prudence was requisite,
instinctively drew back. "It is not necessary," he replied,
and calmly stepped back ten paces.
The man seemed, as Michael observed him well, to have the look
of a Bohemian, such as are met at fairs, and with whom contact,
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