It was the feeling that induces a volunteer recruit to spend hislast penny on drink, and a drunken man to smash mirrors or glasses forno apparent reason and knowing that it will cost him all the moneyhe possesses: the feeling which causes a man to perform actionswhich from an ordinary point of view are insane, to test, as itwere, his personal power and strength, affirming the existence of ahigher, nonhuman criterion of life.

　　From the very day Pierre had experienced this feeling for thefirst time at the Sloboda Palace he had been continuously under itsinfluence, but only now found full satisfaction for it. Moreover, atthis moment Pierre was supported in his design and prevented fromrenouncing it by what he had already done in that direction. If hewere now to leave Moscow like everyone else, his flight from home, thepeasant coat, the pistol, and his announcement to the Rostovs thathe would remain in Moscow would all become not merely meaninglessbut contemptible and ridiculous, and to this Pierre was verysensitive.

　　Pierre's physical condition, as is always the case, correspondedto his mental state. The unaccustomed coarse food, the vodka hedrank during those days, the absence of wine and cigars, his dirtyunchanged linen, two almost sleepless nights passed on a short sofawithout bedding- all this kept him in a state of excitementbordering on insanity.

　　It was two o'clock in the afternoon. The French had alreadyentered Moscow. Pierre knew this, but instead of acting he onlythought about his undertaking, going over its minutest details inhis mind. In his fancy he did not clearly picture to himself eitherthe striking of the blow or the death of Napoleon, but withextraordinary vividness and melancholy enjoyment imagined his owndestruction and heroic endurance.

　　"Yes, alone, for the sake of all, I must do it or perish!" hethought. "Yes, I will approach... and then suddenly... with pistolor dagger? But that is all the same! 'It is not I but the hand ofProvidence that punishes thee,' I shall say," thought he, imaginingwhat he would say when killing Napoleon. "Well then, take me andexecute me!" he went on, speaking to himself and bowing his headwith a sad but firm expression.

　　While Pierre, standing in the middle of the room, was talking tohimself in this way, the study door opened and on the thresholdappeared the figure of Makar Alexeevich, always so timid before butnow quite transformed.

　　His dressing gown was unfastened, his face red and distorted. He wasobviously drunk. On seeing Pierre he grew confused at first, butnoticing embarrassment on Pierre's face immediately grew bold and,staggering on his thin legs, advanced into the middle of the room.