CHAPTERXIII

Thatsamenight, RostovwaswithaplatoononskirmishingdutyinfrontofBagration', withourarmy'scampfiresdimlyglowinginthefog, couldbeseenbehindhim; , peerashewouldintothatfoggydistance: nowsomethinggleamedgray, nowtherewassomethingblack, nowlittlelightsseemedtoglimmerwheretheenemyoughttobe, , andinhisfancyappeared—nowtheEmperor, nowDenisov, andnowMoscowmemories—andheagainhurriedlyopenedhiseyesandsawclosebeforehimtheheadandearsofthehorsehewasriding, andsometimes, whenhecamewithinsixpacesofthem, theblackfiguresofhussars, butinthedistancewasstillthesamemistydarkness."Whynot?...Itmighteasilyhappen," thoughtRostov, "thattheEmperorwillmeetmeandgivemeanorderashewouldtoanyotherofficer; he'llsay: 'Goandfindoutwhat'sthere.' Therearemanystoriesofhisgettingtoknowanofficerinjustsuchachancewayandattachinghimtohimself! Whatifhegavemeaplacenearhim? Oh, howIwouldguardhim, howIwouldtellhimthetruth, howIwouldunmaskhisdeceivers!" Andinordertorealizevividlyhislovedevotiontothesovereign, RostovpicturedtohimselfanenemyoradeceitfulGerman, .