It seemed to him that it was getting lighter.

To the left he saw a sloping descent lit up, and facing it a black knoll that seemed as steep as a wall.

On this knoll there was a white patch that Rostov could not at all make out: was it a glade in the wood lit up by the moon, or some unmelted snow, or some white houses? He even thought something moved on that white spot.

" I expect it's snow... that spot... a spot--une tache," he thought.

" There now... it's not a tache... Natasha... sister, black eyes... Na... tasha... (Won't she be surprised when I tell her how I've seen the Emperor?) Natasha... take my sabretache..."--"Keep to the right, your honor, there are bushes here," came the voice of an hussar, past whom Rostov was riding in the act of falling asleep.