I don't want to ask him. That's
settled," thought Nicholas. "All is over between us, but I won't leave
here without having done all I can for Denisov and certainly not without
getting his letter to the Emperor. The Emperor!... He is here!" thought
Rostov, who had unconsciously returned to the house where Alexander
lodged.

Saddled horses were standing before the house and the suite were
assembling, evidently preparing for the Emperor to come out.

"I may see him at any moment," thought Rostov. "If only I were to hand
the letter direct to him and tell him all... could they really arrest me
for my civilian clothes? Surely not! He would understand on whose side
justice lies. He understands everything, knows everything. Who can be
more just, more magnanimous than he? And even if they did arrest me for
being here, what would it matter?" thought he, looking at an officer who
was entering the house the Emperor occupied. "After all, people do go
in.... It's all nonsense! I'll go in and hand the letter to the Emperor
myself so much the worse for Drubetskoy who drives me to it!" And
suddenly with a determination he himself did not expect, Rostov felt for
the letter in his pocket and went straight to the house.

"No, I won't miss my opportunity now, as I did after Austerlitz," he
thought, expecting every moment to meet the monarch, and conscious of
the blood that rushed to his heart at the thought. "I will fall at his
feet and beseech him. He will lift me up, will listen, and will even
thank me. 'I am happy when I can do good, but to remedy injustice is the
greatest happiness,'" Rostov fancied the sovereign saying. And passing
people who looked after him with curiosity, he entered the porch of the
Emperor's house.

A broad staircase led straight up from the entry, and to the right he
saw a closed door. Below, under the staircase, was a door leading to the
lower floor.

"Whom do you want?" someone inquired.

"To hand in a letter, a petition, to His Majesty," said Nicholas, with a
tremor in his voice.

"A petition? This way, to the officer on duty" (he was shown the door
leading downstairs), "only it won't be accepted."

On hearing this indifferent voice, Rostov grew frightened at what he
was doing; the thought of meeting the Emperor at any moment was so
fascinating and consequently so alarming that he was ready to run away,
but the official who had questioned him opened the door, and Rostov
entered.

A short stout man o