Michael would certainly have preferred to travel alone, but he could not, without appearing at least singular, seek to separate himself from the two reporters, who were taking the same road that he was. Besides, since Alcide and his companion intended to make some stay at Ishim, he thought it rather convenient than otherwise to make that part of the journey in their company. Then in an indifferent tone he asked, “Do you know, with any certainty, where this Tartar invasion is?” “Indeed, sir,” replied Alcide, “we only know what they said at Perm. Feofar-Khan’s Tartars have invaded the whole province of Semipolatinsk, and for some days, by forced marches, have been descending the Irtish. You must hurry if you wish to get to Omsk before them.” “Indeed I must,” replied Michael. “It is reported also that Colonel Ogareff has succeeded in passing the frontier in disguise, and that he will not be slow in joining the Tartar chief in the revolted country.” “But how do they know it?” asked Michael, whom this news, more or less true, so directly concerned. “Oh! as these things are always known,” replied Alcide; “it is in the air.” “Then have you really reason to think that Colonel Ogareff is in Siberia?” “I myself have heard it said that he was to take the road from Kasan to Ekaterenburg.” “Ah! you know that, Mr. Jolivet?” said Harry Blount, roused from his silence. “I knew it,” replied Alcide. “And do you know that he went disguised as a gypsy!” asked Blount. “As a gypsy!” exclaimed Michael, almost involuntarily, and he suddenly remembered the look of the old Bohemian at Nijni-Novgorod, his voyage on board the Caucasus, and his disembarking at Kasan. “Just well enough to make a few remarks on the subject in a letter to my cousin,” replied Alcide, smiling. “You lost no time at Kasan,” dryly observed the Englishman. “No, my dear fellow! and while the Caucasus was laying in her supply of fuel, I was employed in obtaining a store of information.” Michael no longer listened to the repartee which Harry Blount and Alcide exchanged. He was thinking of the gypsy troupe, of the old Tsigane, whose face he had not been able to see, and of the strange woman who accompanied him, and then of the peculiar glance which she had cast at him. Suddenly, close by he heard a pistol-shot. “Ah! forward, sirs!” cried he. “Hullo!” said Alcide to himself, “this quiet merchant who always avoids bullets is in a great hurry to go where they are flying about just now!” Quickly followed by Harry Blount, who was not a man to be behind in danger, he dashed after Michael. In another instant the three were opposite the projecting rock which protected the tarantass at the turning of the road. The clump of pines struck by the lightning was still burning. There was no one to be seen. However, Michael was not mistaken. Suddenly a dreadful growling was heard, and then another report.