At this moment a detachment debouched from the principal square into the street which Michael Strogoff and his companion had just been following.
At the head of the detachment, composed of twenty horsemen, was an officer dressed in a very simple uniform.

Although he glanced rapidly from one side to the other he could not have seen Michael Strogoff, owing to his precipitous retreat.
The detachment went at full trot into the narrow street.

Neither the officer nor his escort concerned themselves about the inhabitants.
Several unlucky ones had scarcely time to make way for their passage.
There were a few half-stifled cries, to which thrusts of the lance gave an instant reply, and the street was immediately cleared.
When the escort had disappeared, "Who is that officer ?" asked Michael Strogoff.

And while putting the question his face was pale as that of a corpse.
"It is Ivan Ogareff," replied the Siberian, in a deep voice which breathed hatred.
"He!" cried Michael Strogoff, from whom the word escaped with a fury he could not conquer.

He had just recognized in this officer the traveler who had struck him at the posting-house of Ichim.