Could Michael Strogoff still be that man?
Heaven, no doubt, did not wish to put him to this trial.
The fatality which had hitherto pursued his steps seemed for a time
to spare him. This end of the Baikal, this part of the steppe,
which he believed to be a desert, which it usually is, was not so now.
About fifty people were collected at the angle formed by the end
of the lake.
Nadia immediately caught sight of this group, when Michael,
carrying her in his arms, issued from the mountain pass.
The girl feared for a moment that it was a Tartar detachment,
sent to beat the shores of the Baikal, in which case flight would
have been impossible to them both. But Nadia was soon reassured.
"Russians!" she exclaimed. And with this last effort, her eyes
closed and her head fell on Michael's breast.
But they had been seen, and some of these Russians, running to them,
led the blind man and the girl to a little point at which was
moored a raft.
The raft was just going to start. These Russians were fugitives
of different conditions, whom the same interest had united
at Lake Baikal. Driven back by the Tartar scouts, they hoped
to obtain a refuge at Irkutsk, but not being able to get there
by land, the invaders having occupied both banks of the Angara,
they hoped to reach it by descending the river which flows
through the town.
Their plan made Michael's heart leap; a last chance was before him,
but he had strength to conceal this, wishing to keep his incognito
more strictly than ever.
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