"I do not need sleep. Look, I have been reading this legacy of my father. Ah! if you, poor Theodore, could have had such a father. What year has just begun?"
"Eighty-four."
"Eighty-four! Forty-seven years ago.... We will not speak of that."
"Poor old friend! Will you never tell me who you are?"
"You did not ask me the day I first saw you; when I found a madman just about to take his own life. I pulled away the weapon; I bade you live!"
"You saved my life; but what is it worth? You see me old even in youth."
"You will live many years yet."
"No. I suffer a great deal; I feel that my hours are numbered. But why not tell me your name?"
"He who composed that noble work," said the old man, pointing to the music, "was my father."
"The name was on the first leaf, with the title of the music, and you have torn it out! I do not understand music, you know. Tell me, old friend, what to call you?"