"As there's no one to fall in love with on campaign, he's fallen in love with the Tsar," he said.

"Denisov, don't make fun of it!" cried Rostov.

" It is such a lofty, beautiful feeling, such a..." "I believe it, I believe it, fwiend, and I share and appwove..." "No, you don't understand!" And Rostov got up and went wandering among the campfires, dreaming of what happiness it would be to die--not in saving the Emperor's life (he did not even dare to dream of that), but simply to die before his eyes.