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And as if in accord with Rostov's feeling, there was a deathly

stillness amid which was heard the Emperor's voice.

"The Pavlograd hussars?" he inquired.

"The reserves, sire!" replied a voice, a very human one compared

to that which had said: "The Pavlograd hussars?"

The Emperor drew level with Rostov and halted. Alexander's face

was even more beautiful than it had been three days before at the

review. It shone with such gaiety and youth, such innocent youth,

that it suggested the liveliness of a fourteen-year-old boy, and

yet it was the face of the majestic Emperor. Casually, while

surveying the squadron, the Emperor's eyes met Rostov's and

rested on them for not more than two seconds. Whether or no the

Emperor understood what was going on in Rostov's soul (it seemed

to Rostov that he understood everything), at any rate his

light-blue eyes gazed for about two seconds into Rostov's face. A

gentle, mild light poured from them. Then all at once he raised

his eyebrows, abruptly touched his horse with his left foot, and

galloped on.