Then came a moment with which few in life can compare--the one when I again inhaled draughts of the pure air of heaven.
I now felt that my hair was stained with blood, which had flowed from a wound in my head, but I had no time to think of it, for people crowded around me saying all sorts of pleasant things.

The architect, Winzer, was most cordial of all.

His words, "I approve of such foolhardiness, Herr Ebers," echoed in my ears long afterwards.
A beam had fallen on my head, but my thick hair had broken the force of the blow, and the wound in a few days began to heal.
My companion in peril was at my side, and as my blood-stained face looked as if my injuries were serious he invited me to his house, which was close by the scene of the accident.

On the way we introduced ourselves to each other.

His name was Hering, and he was the prompter at the theatre.