The officers got up and stood round the Cossacks and the prisoner. The French dragoon was a young fellow, an Alsatian who spoke French with a German accent. He was breathless with excitement, his face was red. and hearing French spoken he began quickly speaking to the officers, turning from one to another. He said that they- wouldn’t have taken him. that it wasn’t his fault he was taken, but the fault of the corporal, who had sent him to get the horsecloths, that he had told him the Russians were there. And at every word he added: ‘But don’t let
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anybody hurt my little horse,’ and stroked his horse. It v he did not quite grasp where he was. At one moment himself for having been taken prisoner, at the next, i before his superior officers, he was trying to prove his r and zeal for the service. He brought with him in all our rearguard the atmosphere of the French army, sc
The Cossacks sold the horse for two gold pieces, a the richest of the officers since he had received mon bought it.
‘Be good to the little horse I’ the Alsatian said with simple-hearted good-nature to Rostov, when the horse was handed to the hussar.
Rostov smiling, soothed the dragoon, and gave him money.
‘Alley! Alley!’ said the Cossack, touching the prisoner's arm to make him go on.
‘The Emperor! the Emperor!’ was suddenly heard among the hussars. Everything was bustle and hurry, and Rostov saw behind them on the road several horsemen riding up with white plumes in their hats. In a single moment all were in their places and eagerly expectant.
Rostov had no memory and no consciousness of how he ran to his post and got on his horse. Instantly his regret at not taking part in the battle, his humdrum mood among the men he saw even- day—all was gone; instantly all thought of self had vanished. He was entirely absorbed in the feeling of happiness at the Tsar's being near. His nearness alone made up to him by itself, he felt, for the loss of the whole day. He was happy, as a lover is happy when the moment of the longed-for meeting has come. Xot daring to look round from the front line, by an ecstatic instinct without looking round, he felt his approach. And he felt it not only from the sound of the tramping hoofs of the approaching cavalcade, he felt it because as the Tsar came nearer everything grew brighter, more joyful and significant, and more festive. Nearer and nearer moved this sun. as he seemed to Rostov, shedding around him rays of mild and majestic light, and now he felt himself enfolded in that radiance, he heard his voice—that voice caressing, calm, majestic, and yet so simple. A deathlike silence had come—as seemed to Rostov fitting —and in that silence he heard the sound of the Tsar's voice.
‘The Pavlograd hussars?' he was saying interrogatively.
‘The reserve, sire.’ replied a voice—such a human voice, after the superhuman voice that had said: ‘Les hussards de Pavlograd?’
The Tsar was on a level with Rostov, and he stood still there. Alexander's face was even handsomer than it had been at the review three days before. It beamed with such gaiety and youth, such innocent youthfulness, that suggested the playfulness of a boy of fourteen, and yet it was still the face of the majestic Emperor. Glancing casually along the squadron, the Tsar’s eyes met the eyes of Rostov, and for not more than two seconds rested on them. Whether it was that the Tsar saw what was passing in Rostov's soul (it seemed Rostov that he saw everything), any way he looked for two seconds with his blue eyes into
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(A soft, mild radiance beamed from them.) Then all at his eyebrows, struck his left foot sharply against his ed on.
oeror could not restrain his desire to be present at the : te of the expostulations of his courtiers, at twelve rom the third column which he had been following, le vanguard. Before he reached the hussars, several xim with news of the successful issue of the engagement.
