“From the direction, it must be the enemy,” repeated Rostóv.

“It may be he or it may be nothing,” muttered the hussar. “It’s dark⁠ ⁠… Steady!” he cried to his fidgeting horse.

Rostóv’s horse was also getting restive: it pawed the frozen ground, pricking its ears at the noise and looking at the lights. The shouting grew still louder and merged into a general roar that only an army of several thousand men could produce. The lights spread farther and farther, probably along the line of the French camp. Rostóv no longer wanted to sleep. The gay triumphant shouting of the enemy army had a stimulating effect on him. “ Vive l’Empereur! l’Empereur! ” he now heard distinctly.

“They can’t be far off, probably just beyond the stream,” he said to the hussar beside him.