etween the wounded
man and Natasha the thought occurred that should he recover their former
engagement would be renewed, no one--least of all Natasha and Prince
Andrew--spoke of this: the unsettled question of life and death, which
hung not only over Bolkonski but over all Russia, shut out all other
considerations.

CHAPTER XXXIII

On the third of September Pierre awoke late. His head was aching, the
clothes in which he had slept without undressing felt uncomfortable on
his body, and his mind had a dim consciousness of something shameful
he had done the day before. That something shameful was his yesterday's
conversation with Captain Ramballe.

It was eleven by the clock, but it seemed peculiarly dark out of doors.
Pierre rose, rubbed his eyes, and seeing the pistol with an engraved
stock which Gerasim had replaced on the writing table, he remembered
where he was and what lay before him that very day.

"Am I not too late?" he thought. "No, probably he won't make his entry
into Moscow before noon."

Pierre did not allow himself to reflect on what lay before him, but
hastened to act.

After arranging his clothes, he took the pistol and was about to go out.
But it then occurred to him for the first time that he certainly could
not carry the weapon in his hand through the streets. It was difficult
to hide such a big pistol even under his wide coat. He could not
carry it unnoticed in his belt or under his arm. Besides, it had been
discharged, and he had not had time to reload it. "No matter, dagger
will do," he said to himself, though when planning his design he had
more than once come to the conclusion that the chief mistake made by the
student in 1809 had been to try to kill Napoleon with a dagger. But as
his chief aim consisted not in carrying out his design, but in proving
to himself that he would not abandon his intention and was doing all he
could to achieve it, Pierre hastily took the blunt jagged dagger in a
green sheath which he had bought at the Sukharev market with the pistol,
and hid it under his waistcoat.

Having tied a girdle over his coat and pulled his cap low on his head,
Pierre went down the corridor, trying to avoid making a noise or meeting
the captain, and passed out into the street.

The conflagration, at which he had looked with so much indifference the
evening before, had greatly increased during the night. Moscow was on
fire in several places. The buildings in Carriage Row, acros