he wonderful cunning natural
to her race she added a wild energy, which knew neither forgiveness nor
pity. She was a savage worthy to share the wigwam of an Apache or the
hut of an Andaman.

Since her arrival at Omsk, where she had rejoined him with her Tsiganes,
Sangarre had not again left Ogareff. The circumstance that Michael and
Marfa Strogoff had met was known to her. She knew and shared Ogareff's
fears concerning the journey of a courier of the Czar. Having Marfa
Strogoff in her power, she would have been the woman to torture her with
all the refinement of a Redskin in order to wrest her secret from her.
But the hour had not yet come in which Ogareff wished the old Siberian
to speak. Sangarre had to wait, and she waited, without losing sight
of her whom she was watching, observing her slightest gestures, her
slightest words, endeavoring to catch the word "son" escaping from her
lips, but as yet always baffled by Marfa's taciturnity.

At the first flourish of the trumpets several officers of high rank,
followed by a brilliant escort of Usbeck horsemen, moved to the front of
the camp to receive Ivan Ogareff. Arrived in his presence, they paid him
the greatest respect, and invited him to accompany them to Feofar-Khan's
tent.

Imperturbable as usual, Ogareff replied coldly to the deference paid to
him. He was plainly dressed; but, from a sort of impudent bravado, he
still wore the uniform of a Russian officer.

As he was about to enter the camp, Sangarre, passing among the officers
approached and remained motionless before him. "Nothing?" asked Ogareff.

"Nothing."

"Have patience."

"Is the time approaching when you will force the old woman to speak?"

"It is approaching, Sangarre."

"When will the old woman speak?"

"When we reach Tomsk."

"And we shall be there--"

"In three days."

A strange gleam shot from Sangarre's great black eyes, and she retired
with a calm step. Ogareff pressed his spurs into his horse's flanks,
and, followed by his staff of Tartar officers, rode towards the Emir's
tent.

Feofar-Khan was expecting his lieutenant. The council, composed of the
bearer of the royal seal, the khodja, and some high officers, had taken
their places in the tent. Ivan Ogareff dismounted and entered.

Feofar-Khan was a man of forty, tall, rather pale, of a fierce
countenance, and evil eyes. A curly black beard flowed over his chest.
With his war costume, coat of mail of gold and silver, cross-belt