[MAX enters almost in a state of derangement, from extreme agitation; his eyes roll wildly, his walk is unsteady, and he appears not to observe his father, who stands at a distance, and gazes at him with a countenance expressive of compassion. He paces with long strides through the chamber, then stands still again, and at last throws himself into a chair, staring vacantly at the object directly before him.]
OCTAVIO (advances to him).
I am going off, my son.
[Receiving no answer, he takes his hand.]
My son, farewell.
MAX.
Farewell.
OCTAVIO.
Thou wilt soon follow me?