Nadia, therefore, asked no explanation from Michael. Had not the hand
which she had extended to him already replied to all that he might have
been able to tell her?
Michael remained silent all the evening. The postmaster
not being able to supply them with fresh horses until
the next morning, a whole night must be passed at the house.
Nadia could profit by it to take some rest, and a room was
therefore prepared for her.
The young girl would no doubt have preferred not to leave her companion,
but she felt that he would rather be alone, and she made ready to go
to her room.
Just as she was about to retire she could not refrain from going up
to Michael to say good-night.
"Brother," she whispered. But he checked her with a gesture.
The girl sighed and left the room.
Michael Strogoff did not lie down. He could not have slept even
for an hour. The place on which he had been struck by the brutal
traveler felt like a burn.
"For my country and the Father," he muttered as he ended
his evening prayer.
He especially felt a great wish to know who was the man
who had struck him, whence he came, and where he was going.
As to his face, the features of it were so deeply engraven
on his memory that he had no fear of ever forgetting them.
Michael Strogoff at last asked for the postmaster. The latter,
a Siberian of the old type, came directly, and looking rather
contemptuously at the young man, waited to be questioned.
"You belong to the country?" asked Michael.
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