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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. How beautiful the sky looked; how blue, how calm,

and how deep! How bright and glorious was the setting sun! With

what soft glitter the waters of the distant Danube shone. And

fairer still were the faraway blue mountains beyond the river,

the nunnery, the mysterious gorges, and the pine forests veiled

in the mist of their summits... There was peace and happiness...

"I should wish for nothing else, nothing, if only I were there,"

thought Rostov. "In myself alone and in that sunshine there is so

much happiness; but here... groans, suffering, fear, and this

uncertainty and hurry... There-they are shouting again, and again

are all running back somewhere, and I shall run with them, and

it, death, is here above me and around... Another instant and I

shall never again see the sun, this water, that gorge!..."