ension that is not to be
acquired by any means, divined the same thing in his new-found
companion, and took a great risk to prove his surmise true. Ivan had not
an inkling of what Vladimir ventured in taking him to that exclusive
little palace, where, did his protege prove a boor, he knew well he
should never find a place for himself again. But Vladimir had spent many
an evening at the opera with Ivan; and had studied well the expressions
that Mozart, Rossini, Donizetti, even Flotow, at his best, could bring
out upon his companion's mobile face. And her Royal Highness was well
known to reward the discoverer of any new man of talent in her special
art.

On that mid-January evening of Ivan's first appearance at the palace on
the quays, the scene that greeted his eyes was the same that afterwards
became so familiar to and so beloved by him. In the centre of the
square, well-lighted, bare _salon_, which, used only for these evenings,
contained not one of the customary hangings, or any medley of useless
toys and ornaments, stood a great Erard, its shining top raised, flanked
by two long stands heaped with music of every description. At the right
of the instrument, willingly accepting second place, stood the arm-chair
of the Grand-Duchess; and about her, in an informal circle, each one
quite at ease, sat or stood twenty or thirty men, young and old, with
possibly half a dozen women. At the piano, engaged in marking a sheet of
manuscript music, was a short, heavy-set person, with a leonine mane and
deep, brilliant eyes: a man known all over Europe, and to be known
throughout America: one Anton Rubinstein, pianist, a maker of music. At
his elbow, but talking to a frail-looking woman, was his brother,
Nicholas, destined always to be overshadowed by Anton, but to whom the
cause of Russian music was to owe far more, in the end, than to the more
showy _virtuoso_. In the knot about Madame Helena's chair were Zaremba,
Serov, Glinka, Balakirev, Stassov, Lechetizsky--for the moment a
special protege of the Grand-Duchess, and even young Rimsky-Korsakov, at
this time merely a Conservatoire pupil. Finally, far away, at the end of
the room, stood a long table, whereon were two unlighted samovars,
flanked by golden platters of sandwiches, cakes and caviare, together
with piles of untouched plates.

At the entrance of the two young men, de Windt grasping Ivan by the arm,
the Grand-Duchess turned, in time to hear their names announced. And