After that Doctor Sebastian squeezed Frantz's hand and said no more. The next day he died.
Frantz was very sad, and he spent the whole day that the Doctor died in the cathedral composing a requiem in memory of his dead master. Little Johan, in a corner of the aisle, listened to the music: he had never heard anything so beautiful; some new power seemed to have come to Frantz, and when he touched the keys the pipes spoke in a way they had never spoken before.
Frantz went on playing until late into the night, and Johan had been carried so far away into dreamland by the music that he did not notice when Frantz stopped, but all at once he became aware that he was alone in the cathedral and that the organ-loft was dark and no sound came from it.
Johan ran up the winding stair into the organ-loft, but Frantz had gone, and Johan knew that he was locked in the cathedral for the night. He made up his mind to sleep there where he was, and he was just taking one of Frantz's missals to use as a pillow when he became aware that he was no longer alone. Sitting on the bench in front of the keys was a strange figure. It was an old man with a grey beard, twinkling eyes, and a deep voice like the buzzing of a hornet. He wore a brown coat and grey stockings, and a black three-cornered hat.
"Who are you?" asked Johan.
"My name is Quint," said the little old man, "and I live in one of the big wooden pipes of the organ."
"Do you always live there?" asked Johan.
"No, not always," said Quint. "We don't live here as a rule, but some of them oblige us to come here and sing——"
"I don't understand," said Johan.
"Well, I will explain it to you," answered Quint. "It's like this: Every one of the stops of the organ has some one who belongs to it and to whom it belongs—but these people do not live in the stops; they live in their own country, which is called Musicland, and they only come to the organs when they are obliged to."