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That hesitation lasted only an instant. The Tsar's foot, in the

narrow pointed boot then fashionable, touched the groin of the

bobtailed bay mare he rode, his hand in a white glove gathered up

the reins, and he moved off accompanied by an irregularly swaying

sea of aides-de-camp. Farther and farther he rode away, stopping

at other regiments, till at last only his white plumes were

visible to Rostov from amid the suites that surrounded the

Emperors.

Among the gentlemen of the suite, Rostov noticed Bolkonski,

sitting his horse indolently and carelessly. Rostov recalled

their quarrel of yesterday and the question presented itself

whether he ought or ought not to challenge Bolkonski. "Of course

not!" he now thought. "Is it worth thinking or speaking of it at

such a moment? At a time of such love, such rapture, and such

self-sacrifice, what do any of our quarrels and affronts matter?

I love and forgive everybody now."