“No doubt; but the villain is a Russian. He knows that it does not do to trifle with the rights of men, and he has no interest to retain us; on the contrary. But to ask a favor of that gentleman does not quite suit my taste.” “But that gentleman is not in the camp, or at least I have not seen him here,” observed Blount. “He will come. He will not fail to do that. He must join the Emir. Siberia is cut in two now, and very certainly Feofar’s army is only waiting for him to advance on Irkutsk.” “And once free, what shall we do?” “Once free, we will continue our campaign, and follow the Tartars, until the time comes when we can make our way into the Russian camp. We must not give up the game. No, indeed; we have only just begun. You, friend, have already had the honor of being wounded in the service of the Daily Telegraph, whilst I--I have as yet suffered nothing in my cousin’s service. Well, well! Good,” murmured Alcide Jolivet; “there he is asleep. A few hours’ sleep and a few cold water compresses are all that are required to set an Englishman on his legs again. These fellows are made of cast iron.” And whilst Harry Blount rested, Alcide watched near him, after having drawn out his note book, which he loaded with notes, determined besides to share them with his companion, for the greater satisfaction of the readers of the _Daily Telegraph_. Events had united them one with the other. They were no longer jealous of each other. So, then, the thing that Michael Strogoff dreaded above everything was the most lively desire of the two correspondents. Ivan Ogareff’s arrival would evidently be of use to them. Blount and Jolivet’s interest was, therefore, contrary to that of Michael. The latter well understood the situation, and it was one reason, added to many others, which prevented him from approaching his former traveling companions. He therefore managed so as not to be seen by them.