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He opened his eyes and looked up. The black canopy of night hung

less than a yard above the glow of the charcoal. Flakes of

falling snow were fluttering in that light. Tushin had not

returned, the doctor had not come. He was alone now, except for a

soldier who was sitting naked at the other side of the fire,

warming his thin yellow body.

"Nobody wants me!" thought Rostov. "There is no one to help me or

pity me. Yet I was once at home, strong, happy, and loved." He

sighed and, doing so, groaned involuntarily.

"Eh, is anything hurting you?" asked the soldier, shaking his

shirt out over the fire, and not waiting for an answer he gave a

grunt and added: "What a lot of men have been crippled

today-frightful!"