"Enough for my needs."
"Will you take half of it?"
"Karl!"
"Will you?"
"No!"
He accepted this as final. And immediately his gaze became fixed on the bay. A sleek white ship was putting out to sea.
"They are leaving, Karl," she said, and the courage in her eyes beat down the pain in her heart.
"In my coat, inside; bring them to me." As he could move only his right arm and that but painfully, he bade her open each paper and hold it so that he could read plainly. The scrawl of the Great Captain; a deed and title; some dust dropping from the worn folds: how he strained his eyes upon them. He could not help the swift intake of air, and the stab which pierced his shoulder made him faint. She began to refold them. "No," he whispered. "Tear them up, tear them up!"
"Why, Karl."
"Tear them up, now, at once. I shall never look at them again. Do it.
What does it matter? I am only Herman Stüler. Now!"