Michael Strogoff ensconced himself in his corner, like a worthy citizen whose affairs go well with him, and who endeavors to kill time by sleep. Nevertheless, as he was not alone in his compartment, he slept with one eye open, and listened with both his ears. In fact, rumor of the rising of the Kirghiz hordes, and of the Tartar invasion had transpired in some degree. The occupants of the carriage, whom chance had made his traveling companions, discussed the subject, though with that caution which has become habitual among Russians, who know that spies are ever on the watch for any treasonable expressions which may be uttered. These travelers, as well as the large number of persons in the train, were merchants on their way to the celebrated fair of Nijni-Novgorod;--a very mixed assembly, composed of Jews, Turks, Cossacks, Russians, Georgians, Kalmucks, and others, but nearly all speaking the national tongue. They discussed the pros and cons of the serious events which were taking place beyond the Ural, and those merchants seemed to fear lest the government should be led to take certain restrictive measures, especially in the provinces bordering on the frontier--measures from which trade would certainly suffer. They apparently thought only of the struggle from the single point of view of their threatened interests. The presence of a private soldier, clad in his uniform--and the importance of a uniform in Russia is great--would have certainly been enough to restrain the merchants’ tongues. But in the compartment occupied by Michael Strogoff, there was no one who seemed a military man, and the Czar’s courier was not the person to betray himself. He listened, then. “They say that caravan teas are up,” remarked a Persian, known by his cap of Astrakhan fur, and his ample brown robe, worn threadbare by use. “Oh, there’s no fear of teas falling,” answered an old Jew of sullen aspect. “Those in the market at Nijni-Novgorod will be easily cleared off by the West; but, unfortunately, it won’t be the same with Bokhara carpets.” “What! are you expecting goods from Bokhara?” asked the Persian. “No, but from Samarcand, and that is even more exposed. The idea of reckoning on the exports of a country in which the khans are in a state of revolt from Khiva to the Chinese frontier!” “Well,” replied the Persian, “if the carpets do not arrive, the drafts will not arrive either, I suppose.” “And the profits, Father Abraham!” exclaimed the little Jew, “do you reckon them as nothing?” “You are right,” said another; “goods from Central Asia run a great risk in the market, and it will be the same with the tallow and shawls from the East.” “Why, look out, little father,” said a Russian traveler, in a bantering tone; “you’ll grease your shawls terribly if you mix them up with your tallow.” “That amuses you,” sharply answered the merchant, who had little relish for that sort of joke.