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.
"Michael!" cried his mother.
"Who are you, my good woman?"
"Who am I? Dost thou no longer know thy mother?"
"You are mistaken; a resemblance deceives you."
Marfa went up to him, and looking straight into his eyes, said, "Art
thou not the son of Peter and Marfa Strogoff?"
Michael would have given his life to have locked his mother in his arms.
But if he yielded now, it was all over with him, with her, with his
mission, with his oath! Completely master of himself, he closed his
eyes that he might not see the inexpressible anguish of his mother.
"I do not know, in truth, what it is you say, my good woman.
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