The Czar suspended his questions for a moment; then pointed to a letter which he held in his hand: "Here is a letter which I charge thee, Michael Strogoff, to deliver into the hands of the Grand Duke, and to no one but him."
"I will deliver it, sire."
"The Grand Duke is at Irkutsk. Thou wilt have to traverse a rebellious country, invaded by Tartars, whose interest it will be to intercept this letter."
"I will traverse it."
"Above all, beware of the traitor, Ivan Ogareff, who will perhaps meet thee on the way."
"I will beware of him."
"Michael Strogoff, take this letter. On it depends the safety of all Siberia, and perhaps the life of my brother, the Grand Duke." (Hands him letter.)
"This letter shall be delivered to His Highness, the Grand Duke."
"Go, thou, for God, for the Czar, and for your native land."
That very night Michael Strogoff started on his perilous journey. His path was constantly beset with dangers, but not until he reached Omsk did his greatest trial come. He had feared that he might see his mother in passing through the town. They stopped only for dinner and the danger was almost past, when, just as they were leaving the posting-house to renew their journey, suddenly a cry made him tremble—a cry which penetrated to the depths of his soul—and these two words rushed into his ear, "My son!" His mother, the old woman Marfa, was before him! Trembling she smiled upon him and stretched forth her arms to him. Michael Strogoff stepped forward; he was about to throw himself—when the thought of duty, the serious danger to himself and mother, in this unfortunate meeting, stopped him, and so great was his self-command that not a muscle of his face moved. There were twenty people in the public room, and among them were perhaps spies, and was it not known that the son of Marfa Strogoff belonged to the Corps of Couriers to the Czar? Michael Strogoff did not move.