Beethoven's manner was so friendly and his voice so kindly that a smile took the place of the frown on the young man's face. The four, who but a moment ago were strangers, became friends at once. "Thank you," said the shoemaker, "but our harpsichord is so poor and we have no music." "No music," echoed Beethoven. "How then does the young lady play so--" He stopped suddenly, for the girl turned her face toward him, and for the first time he saw that she was blind. "I beg your pardon," he stammered, "but I had not noticed before. Then you play by ear?" "Yes, entirely," the girl answered. "And where do you hear music, since you attend no concerts?" asked Beethoven. "I used to hear a lady practicing near us. During the summer evenings her windows were often open, and I walked to and fro outside to listen." The girl seemed shy, so Beethoven said no more. He seated himself quietly before the harpsichord and began to play. Never before had Beethoven played as he played that night for the blind girl and her brother. From the moment that his fingers began to wander over the keys, the very tone of the instrument seemed to grow sweeter. The brother and sister were silent with wonder. The young man laid aside his work, and the girl sat perfectly quiet. She leaned forward a little as if afraid lest she might miss a single note of the sweet music. Suddenly the flame of the one candle wavered, sank, flickered, and went out. Beethoven paused. His friend rose quietly and threw open the shutters. A flood of soft moonlight filled the room, so that it was almost as light as before. The moonbeams fell brightest upon the piano and the player. But the music had stopped. The master's head dropped upon his breast, and his hands rested upon his knees. He seemed lost in thought, and sat thus for some time. At length the young shoemaker arose. Eagerly, yet timidly, he approached the musician. "Wonderful man!" he said in a low tone, "who art thou?" One of the composer's rare smiles flitted across his face. "Listen!" he said, and with a master's touch he gave the opening bars of his own sonata in F. The girl seemed to know that no one but the composer of the music could have played it so well. "Then you are Beethoven," she exclaimed. Beethoven rose to go, but they begged him to stay. "Play to us once more--only once more." He again seated himself at the piano. The moon shone brightly through the window. Looking up thoughtfully to the sky and stars, he said, "I will compose a sonata to the moonlight." Touching the keys lightly, he began to play a sad and lovely melody. The music filled the room as gently as the soft moonlight creeps over the dark earth. Then the time changed. The music became brighter and more rapid. One no longer seemed to see the moon gliding through fleecy clouds. Instead, one thought of sprites and fairies dancing merrily together.