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"What's this? Am I falling? My legs are giving way," thought he,

and fell on his back. He opened his eyes, hoping to see how the

struggle of the Frenchmen with the gunners ended, whether the

red-haired gunner had been killed or not and whether the cannon

had been captured or saved. But he saw nothing. Above him there

was now nothing but the sky-the lofty sky, not clear yet still

immeasurably lofty, with gray clouds gliding slowly across it.

"How quiet, peaceful, and solemn; not at all as I ran," thought

Prince Andrew-"not as we ran, shouting and fighting, not at all

as the gunner and the Frenchman with frightened and angry faces

struggled for the mop: how differently do those clouds glide

across that lofty infinite sky! How was it I did not see that

lofty sky before? And how happy I am to have found it at last!

Yes! All is vanity, all falsehood, except that infinite sky.

There is nothing, nothing, but that. But even it does not exist,

there is nothing but quiet and peace.

Thank God!..."