And yet, though till this moment he had never spoken to him,
he could hardly regard Falbe as a stranger, for he had heard him say
on the piano what his sister understood by the songs of Brahms and
Schubert. He could not help glancing at Falbe's hands, as they busied
themselves with the filling and lighting of a pipe, and felt that he
knew something of those long, broad-tipped fingers, smooth and white and
strong. The man himself he found to be quite different to what he had
expected; he had seen him before, eager and intent and anxious-faced,
absorbed in the task of following another mind; now he looked much
younger, much more boyish.
"No, it's my first visit to Baireuth," he said, "and I can't tell you
how excited I am about it. I've been looking forward to it so much that
I almost expect to be disappointed."
Falbe blew out a cloud of smoke and laughter.
"Oh, you're safe enough," he said. "Baireuth never disappoints. It's
one of the facts--a reliable fact. And Munich? Do you go to Munich
afterwards?"
"Yes. I hope so."
Falbe clicked with his tongue
"Lucky fellow," he said. "How I wish I was. But I've got to get back
again after my week. You'll spend the mornings in the galleries, and the
afternoons and evenings at the opera.
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