As he was about to mount his horse, to return to the outposts, a tumult broke out at some distance, in the part of the camp reserved for the prisoners. Shouts were heard, and two or three shots fired. Perhaps it was an attempt at revolt or escape, which must be summarily suppressed. Ivan Ogareff and the housch-begui walked forward and almost immediately two men, whom the soldiers had not been able to keep back appeared before them. The housch-begui, without more information, made a sign which was an order for death, and the heads of the two prisoners would have rolled on the ground had not Ogareff uttered a few words which arrested the sword already raised aloft. The Russian had perceived that these prisoners were strangers, and he ordered them to be brought to him. They were Harry Blount and Alcide jolivet. On Ogareff’s arrival in the camp, they had demanded to be conducted to his presence. The soldiers had refused. In consequence, a struggle, an attempt at flight, shots fired which happily missed the two correspondents, but their execution would not have been long delayed, if it had not been for the intervention of the Emir’s lieutenant. The latter observed the prisoners for some moments, they being absolutely unknown to him. They had been present at that scene in the post-house at Ichim, in which Michael Strogoff had been struck by Ogareff; but the brutal traveler had paid no attention to the persons then collected in the common room. Blount and Jolivet, on the contrary, recognized him at once, and the latter said in a low voice, “Hullo! It seems that Colonel Ogareff and the rude personage of Ichim are one!” Then he added in his companion’s ear, “Explain our affair, Blount. You will do me a service. This Russian colonel in the midst of a Tartar camp disgusts me; and although, thanks to him, my head is still on my shoulders, my eyes would exhibit my feelings were I to attempt to look him in the face.” So saying, Alcide Jolivet assumed a look of complete and haughty indifference. Whether or not Ivan Ogareff perceived that the prisoner’s attitude was insulting towards him, he did not let it appear. “Who are you, gentlemen?” he asked in Russian, in a cold tone, but free from its usual rudeness. “Two correspondents of English and French newspapers,” replied Blount laconically. “You have, doubtless, papers which will establish your identity?” “Here are letters which accredit us in Russia, from the English and French chancellor’s office.” Ivan Ogareff took the letters which Blount held out, and read them attentively. “You ask,” said he, “authorization to follow our military operations in Siberia?” “We ask to be free, that is all,” answered the English correspondent dryly. “You are so, gentlemen,” answered Ogareff; “I am curious to read your articles in the _Daily Telegraph_.”