"All the same, I love and value nothing but triumph over them all, I value this mystic power and glory that is floating here above me in this mist!" That same night, Rostov was with a platoon on skirmishing duty in front of Bagration's detachment.

His hussars were placed along the line in couples and he himself rode along the line trying to master the sleepiness that kept coming over him.

An enormous space, with our army's campfires dimly glowing in the fog, could be seen behind him; in front of him was misty darkness.

Rostov could see nothing, peer as he would into that foggy distance: now something gleamed gray, now there was something black, now little lights seemed to glimmer where the enemy ought to be, now he fancied it was only something in his own eyes.