“That struck somewhere!” said one.  Apollonius thought:  “If it should strike St. George’s tower, where the gap is, and I should have to climb up, and the clock should strike two, and”—­he could think no further.  A cry for help, a cry of fire resounded through storm and thunder.  “The lightning has struck!” was the cry on the street.  “It has struck St. George’s tower!  Quick to St. George’s!  Fire!  Help!  Fire!  St. George’s!  Fire in the tower of St. George’s!” Horns blew, drums beat.  And always the storm and peal after peal of thunder!  Then the cry came:  “Where is Nettenmair?  If anybody can help it is Nettenmair.  Fire!  Fire!  At St. George’s!  Nettenmair!  Where is Nettenmair?  The tower of St. George’s is on fire!”

The councilman saw Apollonius turn pale, his form sink more deeply into itself than before.  “Where is Nettenmair?” was again the cry from the street.  Then came a dark flush over his pale cheeks and his slender figure rose to its full height.  He buttoned his coat quickly, and drew the strap of his cap firmly under his chin.  “If I stay,” he said to the councilman, as he turned to go, “remember my father, my brother’s wife and the children.”  The councilman was taken aback.  The young man’s “if I stay” sounded like “I shall stay.”  A presentiment came over the friend that here was something that had to do with the salvation of Apollonius’ soul.  But the expression on Apollonius’ face was no longer one of suffering; nor was it anxious or wild.  In spite of apprehension and alarm, the stout-hearted man felt something like joyful hope.  It was indeed the old Apollonius again who stood before him, with the same quiet, modest resoluteness that had won his heart at the first sight of the young man.  “If he would only remain so!” thought the inspector.  He had no time to reply.  He pressed his hand.  Apollonius felt all that this hand-pressure wanted to say.  Compassion crept over him for the good old man, and something like regret for the anxiety he had caused him and would still cause him.  He said with his old-time smile:  “For such cases I am always prepared.  But there is no time to spare.  Good-by for a while!” Apollonius, who moved more quickly than the councilman, was soon out of sight.  All the way to St. George’s, amid the cries, the horns, drums, storm and thunder, the councilman kept repeating to himself:  “Either I shall never see the good fellow again, or he will be well when he returns.”  He did not try to explain to himself how he had come to this conclusion.  There was no time.  His duty as municipal inspector demanded his entire attention.