Will you give it to me?"
"What for?"
"I want to stab myself, as soon as I see that I cannot escape from the
enemy!"
"And I? What is to become of me?"
"Before killing myself, I will stab you with my sabre. Will that content
you?"
"It will. Be careful, however, to hit my heart; do not merely wound, but
kill me."
"Ah, I see that we understand each other, and that the same heart is
pulsating in our breast!" exclaimed Schill, joyfully. "Let us die,
rather than be captured by the enemy and depend on the mercy of the
Corsican tyrant! Now, comrade, let us go! For you are right; the
wound-fever will set in toward evening, and without assistance we shall
be lost."
"Come," said Pueckler, "place your uninjured arm in mine. It seems fate
has destined us for each other, for it has ruined your right arm and my
left arm; thus we can walk at least side by side, mutually supporting
ourselves. I shall be your right hand, and you will lend me your left
arm when I have to embrace anybody. But, it is true, no one will now
care for our embrace; every one will mock and deride us, and try to read
in the bloody handwriting on our foreheads: 'He is also one of the
vanquished Prussians!'"
"Comrade, did you not tell me a little while ago, that it would be
better for us to attend to our own affairs, before talking about other
matters?"
"It is true; let us go!"
And, leaning on each other, the two officers left the house.
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