The Emperor was pale, his cheeks sunken and his eyes hollow, but the charm, the mildness of his features, was all the greater.

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

He was happy to be seeing him.

He knew that he might and even ought to go straight to him and give the message Dolgorukov had ordered him to deliver.

But as a youth in love trembles, is unnerved, and dares not utter the thoughts he has dreamed of for nights, but looks around for help or a chance of delay and flight when the longed-for moment comes and he is alone with her, so Rostov, now that he had attained what he had longed for more than anything else in the world, did not know how to approach the Emperor, and a thousand reasons occurred to him why it would be inconvenient, unseemly, and impossible to do so.