ertainly, but surely. It sometimes happened that
during the night, Nicholas, although driving, fell asleep, and snored
with a clearness which showed the calmness of his conscience. Perhaps
then, by looking close, Michael's hand might have been seen feeling
for the reins, and giving the horse a more rapid pace, to the great
astonishment of Serko, who, however, said nothing. The trot was
exchanged for the amble as soon as Nicholas awoke, but the kibitka had
not the less gained some versts.

Thus they passed the river Ichirnsk, the villages of Ichisnokoe,
Berikylokoe, Kuskoe, the river Marunsk, the village of the same name,
Bogostowskoe, and, lastly, the Ichoula, a little stream which divides
Western from Eastern Siberia. The road now lay sometimes across wide
moors, which extended as far as the eye could reach, sometimes through
thick forests of firs, of which they thought they should never get to
the end. Everywhere was a desert; the villages were almost entirely
abandoned. The peasants had fled beyond the Yenisei, hoping that this
wide river would perhaps stop the Tartars.

On the 22d of August, the kibitka entered the town of Atchinsk, two
hundred and fifty miles from Tomsk. Eighty miles still lay between them
and Krasnoiarsk.

No incident had marked the journey. For the six days during which they
had been together, Nicholas, Michael, and Nadia had remained the same,
the one in his unchange-able calm, the other two, uneasy, and thinking
of the time when their companion would leave them.

Michael saw the country through which they traveled with the eyes of
Nicholas and the young girl. In turns, they each described to him the
scenes they passed. He knew whether he was in a forest or on a plain,
whether a hut was on the steppe, or whether any Siberian was in sight.
Nicholas was never silent, he loved to talk, and, from his peculiar way
of viewing things, his friends were amused by his conversation. One day,
Michael asked him what sort of weather it was.

"Fine enough, little father," he answered, "but soon we shall feel the
first winter frosts. Perhaps the Tartars will go into winter quarters
during the bad season."

Michael Strogoff shook his head with a doubtful air.

"You do not think so, little father?" resumed Nicholas. "You think that
they will march on to Irkutsk?"

"I fear so," replied Michael.

"Yes... you are right; they have with them a bad man, who will not let
them loiter on the way. You have heard