Rostov Sentence Examples

The larger cities (St Petersburg, Moscow, Odessa, Sevastopol, KertchYenikala, Nikolayev, Rostov) have an administrative system of their own, independent of the governments; in these the.

Russia, and appearing in larger numbers only in the district of Rostov.

A railway line to connect the North Caucasian line (Rostov to Petrovsk) with the Transcaucasian line (Batum to Baku) has been built along the Caspian shore from Petrovsk, through the "gate" or pass of Derbent, to Baku.

Dmitri of Rostov, was welcomed with enthusiasm by the monks of the monasteries of St.

The government is under the administration of the ministry of war, and is divided into nine districts - Donets (chief town, Kamenskaya with 23,576 inhabitants in 1897), First Don district (Konstantinovskaya, 8800), Second Don district (NizhneChirskaya, 15,196), Rostov (Rostov-on-Don, 119,889), Salsky (Velikoknyazheskaya), Taganrog (Taganrog, 58,928 in 1900), Ust-medvyeditsa (Ust-medvyeditsa, 16,000), Khoper (Uryupina, 9600), Cherkasky (Novo-cherkassk, 52,005).

Rostov was founded by Sla y s in or before 862, and played so prominent a role in the history of that part of Russia that it used to be known as Rostov the Great.

He annexed the principality of Suzdal to Moscovy, together with Murom, Kozelsk Peremyshl, and other places; reduced the grand-duchy of Rostov to a state of vassalage; and acquired territory from the republic of Great Novgorod by treaty.

Thirty years later the fortifications were transferred to the site now occupied by Rostov, 5 m.

Owing to its situation on the navigable river Don and at the junction of three railways, radiating to north-western Russia, Caucasia and the Volga respectively, Rostov has become the chief seaport of south-eastern Russia, being second in importance on the Black Sea to Odessa only.

Rostov is the chief centre of steam flour-mills for south-eastern Russia and Caucasia.

Rostov has excellent fisheries.

Personally Prince Lobanov was a grand seigneur of the Russian type, proud of being descended from the independent princes of Rostov, and at the same time an amiable man of wide culture, deeply versed in Russian history and genealogy, and perhaps the first authority of his time in all that related to the reign of the emperor Paul.

A short distance below the town of Rostov it breaks up into several channels, of which the largest and most southern retains the name of the river.

Philaret was kept in the strictest confinement in the Antoniev monastery, where he was exposed to every conceivable indignity; but when the pseudo-Demetrius overthrew the Godunovs he released Philaret and made him metropolitan of Rostov (1605).

Julie Karagina turned to young Rostov.

The story told about him at Count Rostov's was true.

Rostov, the father, is Ilya, and his son is Nicholas.

The chest in the passage was the place of mourning for the younger female generation in the Rostov household.

The squadron in which Nicholas Rostov served as a cadet was quartered in the German village of Salzeneck.

Cadet Rostov, ever since he had overtaken the regiment in Poland, had lived with the squadron commander.

Rostov patted the horse's neck and then his flank, and lingered for a moment.

His landlord, who in a waistcoat and a pointed cap, pitchfork in hand, was clearing manure from the cowhouse, looked out, and his face immediately brightened on seeing Rostov.

Rostov waved his cap above his head like the German and cried laughing, "Und vivat die ganze Welt!"

Rostov looked out of the window and saw Denisov coming home.

Then he remained silent for a while, and all at once looked cheerfully with his glittering, black eyes at Rostov.

Rostov took the money and, mechanically arranging the old and new coins in separate piles, began counting them.

Rostov thrust the purse under the pillow and shook the damp little hand which was offered him.

On seeing Rostov, Denisov screwed up his face and pointing over his shoulder with his thumb to the room where Telyanin was sitting, he frowned and gave a shudder of disgust.

Telyanin was sitting in the same indolent pose in which Rostov had left him, rubbing his small white hands.

When Rostov went back there was a bottle of vodka and a sausage on the table.

He leaned his elbows on the table with his pen in his hand and, evidently glad of a chance to say quicker in words what he wanted to write, told Rostov the contents of his letter.

Really I have some, Rostov repeated.

No, I remember thinking that you kept it under your head like a treasure, said Rostov.

Rostov felt Denisov's gaze fixed on him, raised his eyes, and instantly dropped them again.

Rostov, his eyes avoiding Denisov, began buttoning his coat, buckled on his saber, and put on his cap.

Denisov paused, thought a moment, and, evidently understanding what Rostov hinted at, seized his arm.

But Rostov pulled away his arm and, with as much anger as though Denisov were his worst enemy, firmly fixed his eyes directly on his face.

Rostov went to Telyanin's quarters.

The headquarters were situated two miles away from Salzeneck, and Rostov, without returning home, took a horse and rode there.

Rostov rode up to it and saw Telyanin's horse at the porch.

Rostov rose and went up to Telyanin.

Rostov took the purse in his hand, examined it and the money in it, and looked at Telyanin.

Rostov did not speak.

Rostov let go of it.

As soon as Rostov heard them, an enormous load of doubt fell from him.

Every muscle of Telyanin's pale, terrified face began to quiver, his eyes still shifted from side to side but with a downward look not rising to Rostov's face, and his sobs were audible.

Rostov took the money, avoiding Telyanin's eyes, and went out of the room without a word.

Denisov remained silent and did not move, but occasionally looked with his glittering black eyes at Rostov.

And the staff captain rose and turned away from Rostov.

Rostov, growing red and pale alternately, looked first at one officer and then at the other.

No one shall hear a word from me," said Rostov in an imploring voice, "but I can't apologize, by God I can't, do what you will!

What's the matter, Rostov?

Rostov felt perfectly happy.

It seemed to Rostov that Bogdanich was only pretending not to notice him, and that his whole aim now was to test the cadet's courage, so he drew himself up and looked around him merrily; then it seemed to him that Bogdanich rode so near in order to show him his courage.

Next he thought that his enemy would send the squadron on a desperate attack just to punish him--Rostov.

Rostov no longer looked at the colonel, he had no time.

Rostov saw nothing but the hussars running all around him, their spurs catching and their sabers clattering.

Rostov did not think what this call for stretchers meant; he ran on, trying only to be ahead of the others; but just at the bridge, not looking at the ground, he came on some sticky, trodden mud, stumbled, and fell on his hands.

Rostov wiping his muddy hands on his breeches looked at his enemy and was about to run on, thinking that the farther he went to the front the better.

Rostov, absorbed by his relations with Bogdanich, had paused on the bridge not knowing what to do.

Rostov ran up to him with the others.

Nicholas Rostov turned away and, as if searching for something, gazed into the distance, at the waters of the Danube, at the sky, and at the sun.

At that instant the sun began to hide behind the clouds, and other stretchers came into view before Rostov.

And Denisov rode up to a group that had stopped near Rostov, composed of the colonel, Nesvitski, Zherkov, and the officer from the suite.

The squadron in which Rostov was serving had scarcely time to mount before it was halted facing the enemy.

Before him, on the right, Rostov saw the front lines of his hussars and still farther ahead a dark line which he could not see distinctly but took to be the enemy.

Rostov anticipated his horse's movements and became more and more elated.

Rostov asked and answered at the same instant.

Rostov also tried to rise but fell back, his sabretache having become entangled in the saddle.

Who are these men? thought Rostov, scarcely believing his eyes.

And the excited, alien face of that man, his bayonet hanging down, holding his breath, and running so lightly, frightened Rostov.

Rostov closed his eyes and stooped down.

The cadet was Rostov.

Rostov, too, dragged himself to the fire.

Tushin's large, kind, intelligent eyes were fixed with sympathy and commiseration on Rostov, who saw that Tushin with his whole heart wished to help him but could not.

Rostov looked at and listened listlessly to what passed before and around him.

Tushin asked Rostov in a whisper.

And when will all this end? thought Rostov, looking at the changing shadows before him.

Rostov did not listen to the soldier.

That day Nicholas Rostov received a letter from Boris, telling him that the Ismaylov regiment was quartered for the night ten miles from Olmutz and that he wanted to see him as he had a letter and money for him.

Rostov was particularly in need of money now that the troops, after their active service, were stationed near Olmutz and the camp swarmed with well-provisioned sutlers and Austrian Jews offering all sorts of tempting wares.

Rostov had not yet had time to get his uniform.

Boris rose to meet Rostov, but in doing so did not omit to steady and replace some chessmen that were falling.

The German landlady, hearing Rostov's loud voice, popped her head in at the door.

Without answering, Rostov shook the soldier's Cross of St. George fastened to the cording of his uniform and, indicating a bandaged arm, glanced at Berg with a smile.

Rostov took the letter and, throwing the money on the sofa, put both arms on the table and began to read.

Much I need it! said Rostov, throwing the letter under the table.

Come, how are you? asked Rostov.

Again Rostov looked intently into Boris' eyes and sighed.

This pleased Rostov and he began talking about it, and as he went on became more and more animated.

Rostov was a truthful young man and would on no account have told a deliberate lie.

Rostov flushed up on noticing this, but he did not care, this was a mere stranger.

In spite of Prince Andrew's disagreeable, ironical tone, in spite of the contempt with which Rostov, from his fighting army point of view, regarded all these little adjutants on the staff of whom the newcomer was evidently one, Rostov felt confused, blushed, and became silent.

Only when Prince Andrew was gone did Rostov think of what he ought to have said.

Seeing that smile, Rostov involuntarily smiled himself and felt a still stronger flow of love for his sovereign.

To Rostov every word sounded like a voice from heaven.

The Tsar said something more which Rostov did not hear, and the soldiers, straining their lungs, shouted "Hurrah!"

Rostov too, bending over his saddle, shouted "Hurrah!" with all his might, feeling that he would like to injure himself by that shout, if only to express his rapture fully.

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.

When the Emperor had passed nearly all the regiments, the troops began a ceremonial march past him, and Rostov on Bedouin, recently purchased from Denisov, rode past too, at the rear of his squadron--that is, alone and in full view of the Emperor.

Rostov himself, his legs well back and his stomach drawn in and feeling himself one with his horse, rode past the Emperor with a frowning but blissful face "like a vewy devil," as Denisov expressed it.

At dawn on the sixteenth of November, Denisov's squadron, in which Nicholas Rostov served and which was in Prince Bagration's detachment, moved from the place where it had spent the night, advancing into action as arranged, and after going behind other columns for about two thirds of a mile was stopped on the highroad.

Rostov saw the Cossacks and then the first and second squadrons of hussars and infantry battalions and artillery pass by and go forward and then Generals Bagration and Dolgorukov ride past with their adjutants.

Their squadron remained in reserve and Nicholas Rostov spent that day in a dull and wretched mood.

The day was bright and sunny after a sharp night frost, and the cheerful glitter of that autumn day was in keeping with the news of victory which was conveyed, not only by the tales of those who had taken part in it, but also by the joyful expression on the faces of soldiers, officers, generals, and adjutants, as they passed Rostov going or coming.

The Cossacks sold the horse for two gold pieces, and Rostov, being the richest of the officers now that he had received his money, bought it.

Rostov smilingly reassured the dragoon and gave him money.

All began to run and bustle, and Rostov saw coming up the road behind him several riders with white plumes in their hats.

Rostov did not know or remember how he ran to his place and mounted.

And as if in accord with Rostov's feeling, there was a deathly stillness amid which was heard the Emperor's voice.

The Emperor drew level with Rostov and halted.

Casually, while surveying the squadron, the Emperor's eyes met Rostov's and rested on them for not more than two seconds.

In Wischau itself, a petty German town, Rostov saw the Emperor again.

The wounded soldier was so dirty, coarse, and revolting that his proximity to the Emperor shocked Rostov.

Rostov saw how the Emperor's rather round shoulders shuddered as if a cold shiver had run down them, how his left foot began convulsively tapping the horse's side with the spur, and how the well-trained horse looked round unconcerned and did not stir.

Late that night, when all had separated, Denisov with his short hand patted his favorite, Rostov, on the shoulder.

And Rostov got up and went wandering among the campfires, dreaming of what happiness it would be to die--not in saving the Emperor's life (he did not even dare to dream of that), but simply to die before his eyes.

That same night, Rostov was with a platoon on skirmishing duty in front of Bagration's detachment.

What?... said Rostov, waking up.

Rostov could hear the sound of French words but could not distinguish them.

What do you make of it? said Rostov to the hussar beside him.

Rostov asked again, after waiting for a reply.

Rostov no longer wanted to sleep.

Rostov, still looking round toward the fires and the shouts, rode with the sergeant to meet some mounted men who were riding along the line.

Rostov rode up to Bagration, reported to him, and then joined the adjutants listening to what the generals were saying.

Officer!" said Bagration to Rostov, "are the enemy's skirmishers still there?"

Shall I go with some of my hussars to see? replied Rostov.

Bagration stopped and, before replying, tried to see Rostov's face in the mist.

Rostov spurred his horse, called to Sergeant Fedchenko and two other hussars, told them to follow him, and trotted downhill in the direction from which the shouting came.

Bagration called to him from the hill not to go beyond the stream, but Rostov pretended not to hear him and did not stop but rode on and on, continually mistaking bushes for trees and gullies for men and continually discovering his mistakes.

Rostov turned his horse and galloped back.

Rostov reined in his horse, whose spirits had risen, like his own, at the firing, and went back at a footpace.

Only when approaching Bagration did Rostov let his horse gallop again, and with his hand at the salute rode up to the general.

But Rostov did not reply.

On being relieved from picket duty Rostov had managed to get a few hours' sleep before morning and felt cheerful, bold, and resolute, with elasticity of movement, faith in his good fortune, and generally in that state of mind which makes everything seem possible, pleasant, and easy.

Rostov got out of their way, involuntarily noticed that one of them was bleeding, and galloped on.

Rostov heard the thud of their hoofs and the jingle of their weapons and saw their horses, their figures, and even their faces, more and more distinctly.

Rostov, fearing to be crushed or swept into the attack on the French, galloped along the front as hard as his horse could go, but still was not in time to avoid them.

Hardly had the Horse Guards passed Rostov before he heard them shout, "Hurrah!" and looking back saw that their foremost ranks were mixed up with some foreign cavalry with red epaulets, probably French.

At that moment, as the Horse Guards, having passed him, disappeared in the smoke, Rostov hesitated whether to gallop after them or to go where he was sent.

Rostov was horrified to hear later that of all that mass of huge and handsome men, of all those brilliant, rich youths, officers and cadets, who had galloped past him on their thousand-ruble horses, only eighteen were left after the charge.

Rostov without hearing Boris to the end spurred his horse.

He said something more, but Rostov did not wait to hear it and rode away.

Having passed the Guards and traversed an empty space, Rostov, to avoid again getting in front of the first line as he had done when the Horse Guards charged, followed the line of reserves, going far round the place where the hottest musket fire and cannonade were heard.

The foreboding of evil that had suddenly come over Rostov was more and more confirmed the farther he rode into the region behind the village of Pratzen, which was full of troops of all kinds.

Rostov kept asking as he came up to Russian and Austrian soldiers running in confused crowds across his path.

The idea of defeat and flight could not enter Rostov's head.

Rostov kept asking everyone he could stop, but got no answer from anyone.

Having left that soldier who was evidently drunk, Rostov stopped the horse of a batman or groom of some important personage and began to question him.

Rostov rode on at a footpace not knowing why or to whom he was now going.

Rostov rode in the direction pointed out to him, in which he saw turrets and a church.

Rostov considered, and then went in the direction where they said he would be killed.

The wounded crept together in twos and threes and one could hear their distressing screams and groans, sometimes feigned--or so it seemed to Rostov.

The sensation of those terrible whistling sounds and of the corpses around him merged in Rostov's mind into a single feeling of terror and pity for himself.

No one whom Rostov asked could tell him where the Emperor or Kutuzov was.

One officer told Rostov that he had seen someone from headquarters behind the village to the left, and thither Rostov rode, not hoping to find anyone but merely to ease his conscience.

The rider, whose figure seemed familiar to Rostov and involuntarily riveted his attention, made a gesture of refusal with his head and hand and by that gesture Rostov instantly recognized his lamented and adored monarch.

At that moment Alexander turned his head and Rostov saw the beloved features that were so deeply engraved on his memory.

Rostov was happy in the assurance that the rumors about the Emperor being wounded were false.

Better die a thousand times than risk receiving an unkind look or bad opinion from him, Rostov decided; and sorrowfully and with a heart full despair he rode away, continually looking back at the Tsar, who still remained in the same attitude of indecision.

Early in the year 1806 Nicholas Rostov returned home on leave.

Denisov was going home to Voronezh and Rostov persuaded him to travel with him as far as Moscow and to stay with him there.

Meeting a comrade at the last post station but one before Moscow, Denisov had drunk three bottles of wine with him and, despite the jolting ruts across the snow-covered road, did not once wake up on the way to Moscow, but lay at the bottom of the sleigh beside Rostov, who grew more and more impatient the nearer they got to Moscow.

That's our house, said Rostov.

Mind now, don't forget to put out my new coat, added Rostov, fingering his new mustache.

At last the sleigh bore to the right, drew up at an entrance, and Rostov saw overhead the old familiar cornice with a bit of plaster broken off, the porch, and the post by the side of the pavement.

Rostov, who had completely forgotten Denisov, not wishing anyone to forestall him, threw off his fur coat and ran on tiptoe through the large dark ballroom.

Rostov, rubbing his eyes that seemed glued together, raised his disheveled head from the hot pillow.

Rostov hurriedly put something on his feet, drew on his dressing gown, and went out.

Sitting on the sofa with the little cushions on its arms, in what used to be his old schoolroom, and looking into Natasha's wildly bright eyes, Rostov re-entered that world of home and childhood which had no meaning for anyone else, but gave him some of the best joys of his life; and the burning of an arm with a ruler as a proof of love did not seem to him senseless, he understood and was not surprised at it.

Rostov saw that it had been well considered by them.

Why should he not love her now, and even marry her, Rostov thought, but just now there were so many other pleasures and interests before him!

When Rostov met Sonya in the drawing room, he reddened.

On his return to Moscow from the army, Nicholas Rostov was welcomed by his home circle as the best of sons, a hero, and their darling Nikolenka; by his relations as a charming, attractive, and polite young man; by his acquaintances as a handsome lieutenant of hussars, a good dancer, and one of the best matches in the city.

During Rostov's short stay in Moscow, before rejoining the army, he did not draw closer to Sonya, but rather drifted away from her.

At the beginning of March, old Count Ilya Rostov was very busy arranging a dinner in honor of Prince Bagration at the English Club.

The men who set the tone in conversation--Count Rostopchin, Prince Yuri Dolgorukov, Valuev, Count Markov, and Prince Vyazemski--did not show themselves at the club, but met in private houses in intimate circles, and the Moscovites who took their opinions from others--Ilya Rostov among them--remained for a while without any definite opinion on the subject of the war and without leaders.

A minority of those present were casual guests--chiefly young men, among whom were Denisov, Rostov, and Dolokhov--who was now again an officer in the Semenov regiment.

Young Rostov stood at a window with Dolokhov, whose acquaintance he had lately made and highly valued.

He had no lambskin cap on his head, nor had he a loaded whip over his shoulder, as when Rostov had seen him on the eve of the battle of Austerlitz, but wore a tight new uniform with Russian and foreign Orders, and the Star of St. George on his left breast.

Count Ilya Rostov, laughing and repeating the words, Make way, dear boy!

Nicholas Rostov, with Denisov and his new acquaintance, Dolokhov, sat almost at the middle of the table.

Young Rostov's ecstatic voice could be heard above the three hundred others.

As soon as the singing was over, another and another toast was proposed and Count Ilya Rostov became more and more moved, more glass was smashed, and the shouting grew louder.

Pierre sat opposite Dolokhov and Nicholas Rostov.

Dolokhov, Denisov, and Rostov were now sitting opposite Pierre and seemed very gay.

Rostov was talking merrily to his two friends, one of whom was a dashing hussar and the other a notorious duelist and rake, and every now and then he glanced ironically at Pierre, whose preoccupied, absent-minded, and massive figure was a very noticeable one at the dinner.

Rostov looked inimically at Pierre, first because Pierre appeared to his hussar eyes as a rich civilian, the husband of a beauty, and in a word--an old woman; and secondly because Pierre in his preoccupation and absent-mindedness had not recognized Rostov and had not responded to his greeting.

But Rostov was otherwise engaged; he was shouting "Hurrah!"

Despite Denisov's request that he would take no part in the matter, Rostov agreed to be Dolokhov's second, and after dinner he discussed the arrangements for the duel with Nesvitski, Bezukhov's second.

Pierre went home, but Rostov with Dolokhov and Denisov stayed on at the club till late, listening to the gypsies and other singers.

Next day, at eight in the morning, Pierre and Nesvitski drove to the Sokolniki forest and found Dolokhov, Denisov, and Rostov already there.

Rostov ran toward him and said something.

Denisov, Rostov, and Nesvitski closed their eyes.

Rostov and Denisov drove away with the wounded Dolokhov.

But on entering Moscow he suddenly came to and, lifting his head with an effort, took Rostov, who was sitting beside him, by the hand.

Rostov was struck by the totally altered and unexpectedly rapturous and tender expression on Dolokhov's face.

My mother, my angel, my adored angel mother, and Dolokhov pressed Rostov's hand and burst into tears.

When he had become a little quieter, he explained to Rostov that he was living with his mother, who, if she saw him dying, would not survive it.

He implored Rostov to go on and prepare her.

Rostov went on ahead to do what was asked, and to his great surprise learned that Dolokhov the brawler, Dolokhov the bully, lived in Moscow with an old mother and a hunchback sister, and was the most affectionate of sons and brothers.

Dolokhov recovered, and Rostov became very friendly with him during his convalescence.

The first half of the winter of 1806, which Nicholas Rostov spent in Moscow, was one of the happiest, merriest times for him and the whole family.

Rostov noticed something new in Dolokhov's relations with Sonya, but he did not explain to himself what these new relations were.

For the Rostov family the whole interest of these preparations for war lay in the fact that Nicholas would not hear of remaining in Moscow, and only awaited the termination of Denisov's furlough after Christmas to return with him to their regiment.

There were many pretty girls and the Rostov girls were among the prettiest.

Rostov had not seen him since his proposal and Sonya's refusal and felt uncomfortable at the thought of how they would meet.

Dolokhov's clear, cold glance met Rostov as soon as he entered the door, as though he had long expected him.

Rostov recalled at that moment a strange conversation he had once had with Dolokhov.

Dolokhov now asked as if guessing Rostov's thought.

Rostov felt ill at ease.

Rostov sat down by his side and at first did not play.

Rostov staked five rubles on a card and lost, staked again, and again lost.

Dolokhov "killed," that is, beat, ten cards of Rostov's running.

All Rostov's cards were beaten and he had eight hundred rubles scored up against him.

Much depended on Rostov's winning or losing on that seven of hearts.

Rostov almost screamed lifting both hands to his head.

The whole interest was concentrated on Rostov.

Dolokhov was no longer listening to stories or telling them, but followed every movement of Rostov's hands and occasionally ran his eyes over the score against him.

Rostov, leaning his head on both hands, sat at the table which was scrawled over with figures, wet with spilled wine, and littered with cards.

Rostov submissively unbent the corner of his card and, instead of the six thousand he had intended, carefully wrote twenty-one.

Oh, how Rostov detested at that moment those hands with their short reddish fingers and hairy wrists, which held him in their power....

Rostov, flushing, drew Dolokhov into the next room.

Oh, how that chord vibrated, and how moved was something that was finest in Rostov's soul!

It was long since Rostov had felt such enjoyment from music as he did that day.

Next day Rostov saw Denisov off.

After Denisov's departure, Rostov spent another fortnight in Moscow, without going out of the house, waiting for the money his father could not at once raise, and he spent most of his time in the girls' room.

The marshal, a Count Rostov, hasn't sent half his contingent.

When returning from his leave, Rostov felt, for the first time, how close was the bond that united him to Denisov and the whole regiment.

On approaching it, Rostov felt as he had done when approaching his home in Moscow.

Having once more entered into the definite conditions of this regimental life, Rostov felt the joy and relief a tired man feels on lying down to rest.

Rostov lived, as before, with Denisov, and since their furlough they had become more friendly than ever.

Denisov evidently tried to expose Rostov to danger as seldom as possible, and after an action greeted his safe return with evident joy.

On one of his foraging expeditions, in a deserted and ruined village to which he had come in search of provisions, Rostov found a family consisting of an old Pole and his daughter with an infant in arms.

Rostov brought them to his quarters, placed them in his own lodging, and kept them for some weeks while the old man was recovering.

Rostov took the joke as an insult, flared up, and said such unpleasant things to the officer that it was all Denisov could do to prevent a duel.

Denisov patted him on the shoulder and began rapidly pacing the room without looking at Rostov, as was his way at moments of deep feeling.

In April the troops were enlivened by news of the Emperor's arrival, but Rostov had no chance of being present at the review he held at Bartenstein, as the Pavlograds were at the outposts far beyond that place.

Denisov and Rostov were living in an earth hut, dug out for them by the soldiers and roofed with branches and turf.

In April, Rostov was on orderly duty.

Rostov moved to the window to see whom he was speaking to, and saw the quartermaster, Topcheenko.

In answer to Rostov's inquiry where he was going, he answered vaguely and crossly that he had some business.

Rostov went to meet them.

A weal dog astwide a fence! shouted Denisov after him (the most insulting expression a cavalryman can address to a mounted infantryman) and riding up to Rostov, he burst out laughing.

When Rostov asked what was the matter, he only uttered some incoherent oaths and threats in a hoarse, feeble voice.

Alarmed at Denisov's condition, Rostov suggested that he should undress, drink some water, and send for the doctor.

Calm yourself, said Rostov.

But at noon the adjutant of the regiment came into Rostov's and Denisov's dugout with a grave and serious face and regretfully showed them a paper addressed to Major Denisov from the regimental commander in which inquiries were made about yesterday's occurrence.

In answer to Rostov's renewed questions, Denisov said, laughing, that he thought he remembered that some other fellow had got mixed up in it, but that it was all nonsense and rubbish, and he did not in the least fear any kind of trial, and that if those scoundrels dared attack him he would give them an answer that they would not easily forget.

Rostov, who felt his friend's absence very much, having no news of him since he left and feeling very anxious about his wound and the progress of his affairs, took advantage of the armistice to get leave to visit Denisov in hospital.

Directly Rostov entered the door he was enveloped by a smell of putrefaction and hospital air.

The doctor noticed Rostov coming upstairs.

Rostov explained that he wanted to see Major Denisov of the hussars, who was wounded.

Rostov described Denisov's appearance.

But Rostov bowed himself away from the doctor and asked the assistant to show him the way.

Rostov and the assistant went into the dark corridor.

The smell was so strong there that Rostov held his nose and had to pause and collect his strength before he could go on.

Glancing in at the door, Rostov saw that the sick and wounded were lying on the floor on straw and overcoats.

But, just because the assistant evidently did not want him to go in, Rostov entered the soldiers' ward.

Rostov went to the middle of the room and looking through the open doors into the two adjoining rooms saw the same thing there.

Rostov listened and made out the word.

Rostov glanced round, looking for someone who would put this man back in his place and bring him water.

Just then a commissariat soldier, a hospital orderly, came in from the next room, marching stiffly, and drew up in front of Rostov.

Close to the corner, on an overcoat, sat an old, unshaven, gray-bearded soldier as thin as a skeleton, with a stern sallow face and eyes intently fixed on Rostov.

The man's neighbor on one side whispered something to him, pointing at Rostov, who noticed that the old man wanted to speak to him.

Rostov looked at the young soldier and a cold chill ran down his back.

Going along the corridor, the assistant led Rostov to the officers' wards, consisting of three rooms, the doors of which stood open.

The first person Rostov met in the officers' ward was a thin little man with one arm, who was walking about the first room in a nightcap and hospital dressing gown, with a pipe between his teeth.

Rostov looked at him, trying to remember where he had seen him before.

My neighbor, he added, when he heard who Rostov wanted.

How are you, how are you? he called out, still in the same voice as in the regiment, but Rostov noticed sadly that under this habitual ease and animation some new, sinister, hidden feeling showed itself in the expression of Denisov's face and the intonations of his voice.

His face had the same swollen pallor as the faces of the other hospital patients, but it was not this that struck Rostov.

He did not ask about the regiment, nor about the general state of affairs, and when Rostov spoke of these matters did not listen.

Rostov even noticed that Denisov did not like to be reminded of the regiment, or in general of that other free life which was going on outside the hospital.

On Rostov's inquiry as to how the matter stood, he at once produced from under his pillow a paper he had received from the commission and the rough draft of his answer to it.

He became animated when he began reading his paper and specially drew Rostov's attention to the stinging rejoinders he made to his enemies.

His hospital companions, who had gathered round Rostov--a fresh arrival from the world outside--gradually began to disperse as soon as Denisov began reading his answer.

Rostov noticed by their faces that all those gentlemen had already heard that story more than once and were tired of it.

No doubt he" (indicating Rostov) "has connections on the staff.

Late in the evening, when Rostov was about to leave, he asked Denisov whether he had no commission for him.

Having returned to the regiment and told the commander the state of Denisov's affairs, Rostov rode to Tilsit with the letter to the Emperor.

That same day, Rostov, profiting by the darkness to avoid being recognized in civilian dress, came to Tilsit and went to the lodging occupied by Boris and Zhilinski.

Rostov, in common with the whole army from which he came, was far from having experienced the change of feeling toward Napoleon and the French- -who from being foes had suddenly become friends--that had taken place at headquarters and in Boris.

Only recently, talking with one of Platov's Cossack officers, Rostov had argued that if Napoleon were taken prisoner he would be treated not as a sovereign, but as a criminal.

An expression of annoyance showed itself for a moment on his face on first recognizing Rostov.

But Rostov had noticed his first impulse.

His eyes, looking serenely and steadily at Rostov, seemed to be veiled by something, as if screened by blue spectacles of conventionality.

So it seemed to Rostov.

Rostov looked frowningly at the Frenchmen, bowed reluctantly, and remained silent.

Zhilinski evidently did not receive this new Russian person very willingly into his circle and did not speak to Rostov.

When he and Boris were alone, Rostov felt for the first time that he could not look Boris in the face without a sense of awkwardness.

Boris, with one leg crossed over the other and stroking his left hand with the slender fingers of his right, listened to Rostov as a general listens to the report of a subordinate, now looking aside and now gazing straight into Rostov's eyes with the same veiled look.

Each time this happened Rostov felt uncomfortable and cast down his eyes.

Rostov almost shouted, not looking Boris in the face.

Rostov had come to Tilsit the day least suitable for a petition on Denisov's behalf.

Rostov felt so ill at ease and uncomfortable with Boris that, when the latter looked in after supper, he pretended to be asleep, and early next morning went away, avoiding Boris.

He is here! thought Rostov, who had unconsciously returned to the house where Alexander lodged.

And suddenly with a determination he himself did not expect, Rostov felt for the letter in his pocket and went straight to the house.

On hearing this indifferent voice, Rostov grew frightened at what he was doing; the thought of meeting the Emperor at any moment was so fascinating and consequently so alarming that he was ready to run away, but the official who had questioned him opened the door, and Rostov entered.

Rostov turned and was about to go, but the man in the braces stopped him.

Rostov went back into the hall and noticed that in the porch there were many officers and generals in full parade uniform, whom he had to pass.

It was a cavalry general who had obtained the Emperor's special favor during this campaign, and who had formerly commanded the division in which Rostov was serving.

Rostov, in dismay, began justifying himself, but seeing the kindly, jocular face of the general, he took him aside and in an excited voice told him the whole affair, asking him to intercede for Denisov, whom the general knew.

Having heard Rostov to the end, the general shook his head gravely.

Hardly had Rostov handed him the letter and finished explaining Denisov's case, when hasty steps and the jingling of spurs were heard on the stairs, and the general, leaving him, went to the porch.

In the uniform of the Preobrazhensk regiment--white chamois-leather breeches and high boots-- and wearing a star Rostov did not know (it was that of the Legion d'honneur), the monarch came out into the porch, putting on his gloves and carrying his hat under his arm.

He spoke a few words to some of the generals, and, recognizing the former commander of Rostov's division, smiled and beckoned to him.

All the suite drew back and Rostov saw the general talking for some time to the Emperor.

Again the crowd of members of the suite and street gazers (among whom was Rostov) moved nearer to the Emperor.

Beside himself with enthusiasm, Rostov ran after him with the crowd.

As the Tsar rode up to one flank of the battalions, which presented arms, another group of horsemen galloped up to the opposite flank, and at the head of them Rostov recognized Napoleon.

On approaching Alexander he raised his hat, and as he did so, Rostov, with his cavalryman's eye, could not help noticing that Napoleon did not sit well or firmly in the saddle.

In spite of the trampling of the French gendarmes' horses, which were pushing back the crowd, Rostov kept his eyes on every movement of Alexander and Bonaparte.

The crowd unexpectedly found itself so close to the Emperors that Rostov, standing in the front row, was afraid he might be recognized.

Kozlovski scanned the ranks resolutely and included Rostov in his scrutiny.

The members of his suite, guessing at once what he wanted, moved about and whispered as they passed something from one to another, and a page--the same one Rostov had seen the previous evening at Boris'--ran forward and, bowing respectfully over the outstretched hand and not keeping it waiting a moment, laid in it an Order on a red ribbon.

Two officers with flushed faces, looking cheerful and happy, passed by Rostov.

On his way back, he noticed Rostov standing by the corner of a house.