Michael was in much anxiety.
How was he to cross the river, if, as was probable, all boats
had been destroyed to retard the Tartars' march? He knew
the Yenisei, its width was considerable, its currents strong.
Ordinarily by means of boats specially built for the conveyance
of travelers, carriages, and horses, the passage of the Yenisei
takes about three hours, and then it is with extreme difficulty
that the boats reach the opposite bank. Now, in the absence
of any ferry, how was the kibitka to get from one bank
to the other?
Day was breaking when the kibitka reached the left bank,
where one of the wide alleys of the park ended.
They were about a hundred feet above the Yenisei, and could
therefore survey the whole of its wide course.
"Do you see a boat?" asked Michael, casting his eyes eagerly
about from one side to the other, mechanically, no doubt,
as if he could really see.
"It is scarcely light yet, brother," replied Nadia. "The fog
is still thick, and we cannot see the water."
"But I hear it roaring," said Michael.
Indeed, from the fog issued a dull roaring sound.
The waters being high rushed down with tumultuous violence.
All three waited until the misty curtain should rise.
The sun would not be long in dispersing the vapors.
"Well?" asked Michael.
"The fog is beginning to roll away, brother," replied Nadia,
"and it will soon be clear."
"Then you do not see the surface of the water yet?"
"Not yet.
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