oing
thus to the end of the boat, he had no other idea but that of striving
against sleep by a rather longer walk. He reached the forward deck,
and was already climbing the forecastle ladder, when he heard someone
speaking near him. He stopped. The voices appeared to come from a
group of passengers enveloped in cloaks and wraps. It was impossible to
recognize them in the dark, though it sometimes happened that, when the
steamer's chimney sent forth a plume of ruddy flames, the sparks seemed
to fall amongst the group as though thousands of spangles had been
suddenly illuminated.

Michael was about to step up the ladder, when a few words reached his
ear, uttered in that strange tongue which he had heard during the night
at the fair. Instinctively he stopped to listen. Protected by the shadow
of the forecastle, he could not be perceived himself. As to seeing
the passengers who were talking, that was impossible. He must confine
himself to listening.

The first words exchanged were of no importance--to him at least--but
they allowed him to recognize the voices of the man and woman whom he
had heard at Nijni-Novgorod. This, of course, made him redouble his
attention. It was, indeed, not at all impossible that these same
Tsiganes, now banished, should be on board the Caucasus.

And it was well for him that he listened, for he distinctly heard this
question and answer made in the Tartar idiom: "It is said that a courier
has set out from Moscow for Irkutsk."

"It is so said, Sangarre; but either this courier will arrive too late,
or he will not arrive at all."

Michael Strogoff started involuntarily at this reply, which concerned
him so directly. He tried to see if the man and woman who had just
spoken were really those whom he suspected, but he could not succeed.

In a few moments Michael Strogoff had regained the stern of the vessel
without having been perceived, and, taking a seat by himself, he buried
his face in his hands. It might have been supposed that he was asleep.

He was not asleep, however, and did not even think of sleeping. He was
reflecting, not without a lively apprehension: "Who is it knows of my
departure, and who can have any interest in knowing it?"

CHAPTER VIII GOING UP THE KAMA

THE next day, the 18th of July, at twenty minutes to seven in the
morning, the Caucasus reached the Kasan quay, seven versts from the
town.

Kasan is situated at the confluence of the Volga and Kasanka. It is an
i