the raging had exceeded the sound of the bell. An invisible world
seemed to tear it to pieces in the air. The storm raged and panted
with the fury of the tiger which cannot destroy what it holds in its
grasp; the deep, majestic rolling that outsounded it was the roar of
the lion which has his foot on the enemy--the triumphant expression of
struggle satisfied by action.

"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 ther