sticking out, and in the middle of which his wife’s nightcap was visible and her sleepy breathing audible.
“She really is a dear little thing,” said Rostóv to Ilyín, who was following him.
“A charming woman!” said Ilyín, with all the gravity of a boy of sixteen.
Half an hour later the squadron was lined up on the road. The command was heard to “mount” and the soldiers crossed themselves and mounted.
Rostóv riding in front gave the order “Forward!” and the hussars, with clanking sabers and subdued talk, their horses’ hoofs splashing in the mud, defiled in fours and moved along the broad road planted with birch trees on each side, following the infantry and a battery that had gone on in front.
Tattered, blue-purple clouds, reddening in the east, were scudding before the wind. It was growing lighter and lighter. That curly grass which always grows by