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Lemarrois had just arrived at a gallop with Bonaparte's stern

letter, and Murat, humiliated and anxious to expiate his fault,

had at once moved his forces to attack the center and outflank

both the Russian wings, hoping before evening and before the

arrival of the Emperor to crush the contemptible detachment that

stood before him.

"It has begun. Here it is!" thought Prince Andrew, feeling the

blood rush to his heart. "But where and how will my Toulon

present itself?"

Passing between the companies that had been eating porridge and

drinking vodka a quarter of an hour before, he saw everywhere the

same rapid movement of soldiers forming ranks and getting their

muskets ready, and on all their faces he recognized the same

eagerness that filled his heart. "It has begun! Here it is,

dreadful but enjoyable!" was what the face of each soldier and

each officer seemed to say.