"Tell me again about this Nicholas. I know only one man, one alone, in whom such conduct would not have astonished me.
Nicholas Korpanoff! Was that really his name? Are you sure of it, my daughter?""Why should he have deceived me in this," replied Nadia, "when he deceived me in no other way?"Moved, however, by a kind of presentiment, Marfa Strogoff put questions upon questions to Nadia.
"You told me he was fearless, my daughter. You have proved that he has been so?" asked she.
"Yes, fearless indeed!" replied Nadia.
"It was just what my son would have done," said Marfa to herself.
Then she resumed, "Did you not say that nothing stopped him, nor astonished him; that he was so gentle in his strength that you had a sister as well as a brother in him, and he watched over you like a mother?""Yes, yes," said Nadia. "Brother, sister, mother--he has been all to me!""And defended you like a lion?"
"A lion indeed!" replied Nadia. "A lion, a hero!""My son, my son!" thought the old Siberian. "But you said, however, that he bore a terrible insult at that post-house in Ichim?""He did bear it," answered Nadia, looking down.
"He bore it!" murmured Marfa, shuddering.
"Mother, mother," cried Nadia, "do not blame him! He had a secret.
A secret of which God alone is as yet the judge!""And," said Marfa, raising her head and looking at Nadia as though she would read the depths of her heart, "in that hour of humiliation did you not despise this Nicholas Korpanoff?""I admired without understanding him," replied the girl.
"I never felt him more worthy of respect."The old woman was silent for a minute.
"Was he tall?" she asked.
"Very tall."
"And very handsome? Come, speak, my daughter.""He was very handsome," replied Nadia, blushing.
"It was my son! I tell you it was my son!" exclaimed the old woman, embracing Nadia.
"Your son!" said Nadia amazed, "your son!""Come," said Marfa; "let us get to the bottom of this, my child.
Your companion, your friend, your protector had a mother.
Did he never speak to you of his mother?""Of his mother?" said Nadia. "He spoke to me of his mother as Ispoke to him of my father--often, always. He adored her.""Nadia, Nadia, you have just told me about my own son,"said the old woman.
And she added impetuously, "Was he not going to see this mother, whom you say he loved, in Omsk?""No," answered Nadia, "no, he was not."
"Not!" cried Marfa. "You dare to tell me not!""I say so: but it remains to me to tell you that from motives which outweighed everything else, motives which I do not know, I understand that Nicholas Korpanoff had to traverse the country completely in secret.
To him it was a question of life and death, and still more, a question of duty and honor.""Duty, indeed, imperious duty," said the old Siberian, "of those who sacrifice everything, even the joy of giving a kiss, perhaps the last, to his old mother. All that you do not know, Nadia--all that I did not know myself--I now know.
You have made me understand everything. But the light which you have thrown on the mysteries of my heart, I cannot return on yours.
Since my son has not told you his secret, I must keep it.
Forgive me, Nadia; I can never repay what you have done for me.""Mother, I ask you nothing," replied Nadia.
All was thus explained to the old Siberian, all, even the conduct of her son with regard to herself in the inn at Omsk. There was no doubt that the young girl's companion was Michael Strogoff, and that a secret mission in the invaded country obliged him to conceal his quality of the Czar's courier.
"Ah, my brave boy!" thought Marfa. "No, I will not betray you, and tortures shall not wrest from me the avowal that it was you whom I saw at Omsk."Marfa could with a word have paid Nadia for all her devotion to her.
She could have told her that her companion, Nicholas Korpanoff, or rather Michael Strogoff, had not perished in the waters of the Irtych, since it was some days after that incident that she had met him, that she had spoken to him.
But she restrained herself, she was silent, and contented herself with saying, "Hope, my child! Misfortune will not overwhelm you.
You will see your father again; I feel it; and perhaps he who gave you the name of sister is not dead. God cannot have allowed your brave companion to perish. Hope, my child, hope! Do as I do.
The mourning which I wear is not yet for my son."
