"Who is that?" asked he.
"It is Goethe, by Widnmann," responded Scheffer.
Wagner lifted his soft felt hat and said;
"It is a striking likeness!"
Then he added:
"I said that for fun, but I could very well have known Goethe, I must have been about fifteen when he died. However I should be pleased to make you believe that I am younger than Richter!'
"You are younger, Master; the Immortals have no age."
At the station we were all reunited. There were Villiers, Schuré, Servais and others. Wagner took them all cordially by the hand and Richter presented to him Franz Servais, whom he did not yet know, but of whom Liszt had often spoken to him.
The train was in readiness, the compartment chosen, some one arranged the luggage.
The Master, in a boyish humour, sat on the floor of the carriage, in the opening of the door, the step serving for his footstool. We ranged ourselves in a circle, which formed a rampart about him.