"Natasha, I am in earnest...", On the right, close to the road, was an inn, with a four-wheeled cartat the door, a large bundle of hop-poles, a plough, a heap of driedbrushwood near a flourishing hedge, lime smoking in a square hole,and a ladder suspended along an old penthouse with straw partitions. A young girl was weeding in a field, where a huge yellow poster,probably of some outside spectacle, such as a parish festival,was fluttering in the wind. At one corner of the inn, beside a poolin which a flotilla of ducks was navigating, a badly paved path plungedinto the bushes. The wayfarer struck into this., This was perfectly fresh, the grooves in the ancient black mortar were white, a tuft of nettles at the foot of the wall was powdered with the fine, fresh plaster., The fugitives pausing breathless for a moment in the distance, listened in the darkness to that gloomy and ever-decreasing thunder.! The poor man trembled, inundated with angelic joy; he declared to himself ecstatically that this would last all their lives; he told himself that he really had not suffered sufficiently to merit so radiant a bliss, and he thanked God, in the depths of his soul, for having permitted him to be loved thus, he, a wretch, by that innocent being.... Natasha gave herself up so fully and frankly to this new feeling that she did not try to hide the fact that she was no longer sad, but bright and cheerful.,BOOK FIFTH.--THE END OF WHICH DOES NOT RESEMBLE THE BEGINNING,, No human sentiment can be as terrible as joy., The good woman appeared as usual..