"I can try, however."

So saying, the French correspondent familiarly saluted
the Englishman, who bowed stiffly. The governor's proclamation
did not concern these two news-hunters, as they were neither
Russians nor foreigners of Asiatic origin. However, being urged
by the same instinct, they had left Nijni-Novgorod together.
It was natural that they should take the same means of transport,
and that they should follow the same route to the Siberian steppes.
Traveling companions, whether enemies or friends, they had
a week to pass together before "the hunt would be open."
And then success to the most expert! Alcide Jolivet had made
the first advances, and Harry Blount had accepted them though
he had done so coldly.

That very day at dinner the Frenchman open as ever and even
too loquacious, the Englishman still silent and grave, were seen
hobnobbing at the same table, drinking genuine Cliquot, at six roubles
the bottle, made from the fresh sap of the birch-trees of the country.
On hearing them chatting away together, Michael Strogoff said to himself:
"Those are inquisitive and indiscreet fellows whom I shall probably
meet again on the way. It will be prudent for me to keep them
at a distance."

The young Livonian did not come to dinner. She was asleep in her cabin,
and Michael did not like to awaken her. It was evening before she
reappeared on the deck of the Caucasus. The long twilight imparted
a coolness to the atmosphere eagerly enjoyed by the passengers
after the stifling heat of the day. As the evening advanced,
the greater number never even thought of going into the saloon.