Michael then stopped, he fixed his eyes on the poor girl, as though he would try to pierce the gloom which surrounded him; his breast heaved; then, supporting his companion more than before, he started on afresh.
However, amidst these continual miseries, a fortunate circumstance on that day occurred which it appeared likely would considerably ease their fatigue.
They had been walking from Semilowskoe for two hours when Michael stopped.
“Is there no one on the road?”
“Not a single soul,” replied Nadia.
“Do you not hear some noise behind us?
If they are Tartars we must hide.
Keep a good look-out!”
“Wait, Michael!” replied Nadia, going back a few steps to where the road turned to the right.
Michael Strogoff waited alone for a minute, listening attentively.
Nadia returned almost immediately and said,
“It is a cart.
A young man is leading it.”
“Is he alone?”
“Alone.”
Michael hesitated an instant.
Should he hide? or should he, on the contrary, try to find a place in the vehicle, if not for himself, at least for her?
For himself, he would be quite content to lay one hand on the cart, to push it if necessary, for his legs showed no sign of failing him; but he felt sure that Nadia, compelled to walk ever since they crossed the Obi, that is, for eight days, must be almost exhausted.
He waited.
The cart was soon at the corner of the road.
It was a very dilapidated vehicle, known in the country as a kibitka, just capable of holding three persons.
Usually the kibitka is drawn by three horses, but this had but one, a beast with long hair and a very long tail. It was of the Mongol breed, known for strength and courage.
A young man was leading it, with a dog beside him.
Nadia saw at once that the young man was Russian; his face was phlegmatic, but pleasant, and at once inspired confidence.
He did not appear to be in the slightest hurry; he was not walking fast that he might spare his horse, and, to look at him, it would not have been believed that he was following a road which might at any instant be swarming with Tartars.
Nadia, holding Michael by the hand, made way for the vehicle.
The kibitka stopped, and the driver smilingly looked at the young girl.
“And where are you going to in this fashion?” he asked, opening wide his great honest eyes.
At the sound of his voice, Michael said to himself that he had heard it before.
And it was satisfactory to him to recognize the man for his brow at once cleared.
“Well, where are you going?” repeated the young man, addressing himself more directly to Michael.
“We are going to Irkutsk,” he replied.
“Oh! little father, you do not know that there are still versts and versts between you and Irkutsk?”
“I know it.”
“And you are going on foot?”
“On foot.”
“You, well! but the young lady?”
“She is my sister,” said Michael, who judged it prudent to give again this name to Nadia.
“Yes, your sister, little father!
But, believe me, she will never be able to get to Irkutsk!”
“Friend,” returned Michael, approaching him, “the Tartars have robbed us of everything, and I have not a copeck to offer you; but if you will take my sister with you, I will follow your cart on foot; I will run when necessary, I will not delay you an hour!”
“Brother,” exclaimed Nadia, “I will not!
I will not!
Sir, my brother is blind!”
“Blind!” repeated the young man, much moved.
“The Tartars have burnt out his eyes!” replied Nadia, extending her hands, as if imploring pity.
“Burnt out his eyes!
Oh! poor little father!
I am going to Krasnoiarsk.
Well, why should not you and your sister mount in the kibitka?