Nadia gazed in her companion’s face as she had never before gazed. There was more than gratitude, more than pity, in that look. Could Michael have seen her, he would have read in that sweet desolate gaze a world of devotion and tenderness.
The eyelids of the blind man, made red by the heated blade, fell half over his eyes. The pupils seemed to be singularly enlarged. The rich blue of the iris was darker than formerly. The eyelashes and eyebrows were partly burnt, but in appearance, at least, the old penetrating look appeared to have undergone no change. If he could no longer see, if his blindness was complete, it was because the sensibility of the retina and optic nerve was radically destroyed by the fierce heat of the steel.
Then Michael stretched out his hands.
“Are you there, Nadia?” he asked.
“Yes,” replied the young girl; “I am close to you, and I will not go away from you, Michael.”
At his name, pronounced by Nadia for the first time, a thrill passed through Michael’s frame. He perceived that his companion knew all, who he was.
“Nadia,” replied he, “we must separate!”
“We separate? How so, Michael?”
“I must not be an obstacle to your journey! Your father is waiting for you at Irkutsk! You must rejoin your father!”
“My father would curse me, Michael, were I to abandon you now, after all you have done for me!”