There were twenty people in the public room.

Among them were, perhaps, spies, and was it not known in the town that the son of Marfa Strogoff belonged to the corps of the couriers of the Czar?
Michael Strogoff did not move.
"Michael!" cried his mother.
"Who are you, my good lady ?" Michael Strogoff stammered, unable to speak in his usual firm tone.
"Who am I, thou askest! Dost thou no longer know thy mother ?" "You are mistaken," coldly replied Michael Strogoff.

"A resemblance deceives you." The old Marfa went up to him, and, looking straight into his eyes, said, "Thou art not the son of Peter and Marfa Strogoff ?" Michael Strogoff would have given his life to have locked his mother in his arms; but if he yielded it was all over with him, with her, with his mission, with his oath! Completely master of himself, he closed his eyes, in order not to see the inexpressible anguish which agitated the revered countenance of his mother.

He drew back his hands, in order not to touch those trembling hands which sought him.

"I do not know in truth what it is you say, my good woman," he replied, stepping back.
"Michael!" again cried his aged mother.
"My name is not Michael.