Voicethat voice caressing, calm, majestic, and yet so simple. A deathlike silence had comeas seemed to Rostov fittingand in that silence he heard the sound of the Tsar's voice. The Pavlograd hussars? he was saying interrogativelyThe reserve, sire, replied a voicesuch 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 video door bell 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 to Rostov that he saw everything, any way he looked for two seconds with his blue eyes into Rostov's face. A soft, mild radiance beamed from them. Then all at once he raised his eyebrows, struck his left foot sharply against his horse, and galloped on. The young Emperor could not restrain his desire to be present at the battle, and in spite of the expostulations of his courtiers, at twelve o'clock, escaping from the indoor monitor

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