"Yes, and beyond those hills is Jena," said Pueckler, sadly. "Those are
two melancholy names for a Prussian ear, and, like Ulysses, I should
like to close mine so as not to hear that siren voice of death any more;
for, I tell you, whenever I hear those two names, I am driven to
despair, and would like to throw myself into that abyss!"
"My friend, it seems to me we are already in the abyss, and our first
and most earnest endeavors should be directed toward saving us from it,"
said Schill, shrugging his shoulders. "Our first step should be to get
safely through the enemy's lines, in order to escape from the dangers to
which a collision with the French would expose us. Whither shall we turn
now? Have you formed already a definite plan, count?"
"Being disabled from active service by my wounds, I shall repair to my
estates in Silesia, and remain there till I have recovered. And you,
comrade--will you permit me to make you an offer? If you have not yet
come to a different decision, you ought to accompany me, and stay at my
house till your wounds are healed. I have splendid woods, and facilities
for angling on my estates; and if you like hunting and fishing, I am
sure a sojourn at my house will afford you plenty of amusement."
"But you forget that my right arm is wounded, count," said Schill, with
a melancholy smile; "hence, I shall be but a poor companion for you, and
ought not to accept your kind offer.
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