s equally impossible. It
was certainly her son whom she had just seen; and if he had not
recognized her, it was because he would not, because he ought not,
because he had some strong reason for acting thus. And then, her mother
feelings arising within her, she had only one thought: Can I unwittingly
have ruined him?

"I am mad," she said to her interrogators. "This young man was not my
son; he had not his voice. Let us think no more of it. If we do, I shall
end in finding him everywhere."

This occurrence, however, came to the knowledge of Ivan Ogareff, who was
stationed in the town. To obtain possession of any official message,
which, if delivered, would frustrate his plans, and to detain the
courier was his great desire. He succeeded in arresting Michael
Strogoff, and then sent for Marfa to appear before him. Marfa, standing
before Ivan Ogareff, drew herself up, crossed her arms on her breast,
and waited.

"You are Marfa Strogoff?" asked Ogareff.

"Yes."

"Do you retract what you said a few hours ago?"

"No."

"Then you do not know that your son, Michael Strogoff, Courier to the
Czar, has passed through Omsk?"

"I do not know."

"And the man whom you thought you recognized as your son, was not your
son?"

"He was not my son."

"And since then, have you seen him among the prisoners?"

"No."

"If he were pointed out to you, would you recognize him?"

"No."

"Listen! Your son is here, and you shall immediately point him out to
me."

"No."

"All these men will file before you, and if you do not show me Michael
Strogoff, you shall receive as many blows from the knout as men shall
have passed before you."

On an order from Ogareff, the prisoners filed one by one past Marfa, who
was immovable as a statue, and whose face expressed only perfect
indifference. Michael was to all appearances unmoved, but the palms of
his hands bled under the nails which were pressed into the flesh.

Marfa, seized by two soldiers, was forced on her knees on the ground.
Her dress torn off, left her back bare. A saber was placed before her
breast at a few inches' distance. If she bent beneath her sufferings,
her breast would be pierced by the sharp steel. The Tartar drew himself
up and waited.

"Begin," said Ogareff.

The whip whistled through the air, but, before it fell, a powerful hand
stopped the Tartar's arm. Ivan Ogareff had succeeded.

"Michael Strogoff!"

"Ivan Ogareff!" and raising the knout, he struck Oga