oniously, and Nicholas
Rubinstein strode in.

CHAPTER XI

THE MOSCOW CONSERVATOIRE

Ivan rose from his place, smiling a welcome. In spite of himself he had
always liked Anton less than the unfamed brother whom Petersburg
supposed just now to be in Vienna, attending Anton in his new series of
electrifying recitals. But the rough, strong, kindly face, short,
muscular figure and genial smile of Ivan's visitor were unmistakable.
He, then, after shaking hands with the younger man, put down the huge
water-proof portfolio that he bore under his arm, shuffled out of the
alpaca overcoat that he persistently wore, summer after summer, threw
his hat upon the bed, and, with a face more than usually serious, drew a
chair to the other side of the work-table, and sat down.

"I'm interrupting your work," he remarked, as Ivan shoved his copy to
one side and seated himself also. "Yes, I'm interrupting; but you can
spare the time, I believe, considering my errand."

"I've plenty of time.--But--there's no trouble in Vienna,--no accident,
I hope?" Ivan's tone took on a shade of anxiety.

Nicholas, who was engaged in lighting a very black cigar, did not answer
till the blue smoke was rolling up satisfactorily. Then he replied: "No,
I left there a week ago. Anton is with Bruckner and one or two others,
and didn't need me. But I--well, there's a most annoying business about
this Moscow affair!"

"What? The new Conservatoire?"

"Yes. You know Serov signed a contract to take the intermediate classes:
theory and orchestration, you understand."

Ivan nodded. "In June, before I left, he was full of it."

"Um--yes. And he signed the contract, remember!--But that was before
they began to fill his pockets and his head with the success of
'Reseda'--that new opera of his--very mixed style, and too light.--No
depth at all.--No classic restraint. Bald melody--thin little
_tum-ti-tums_, _pizzicato_, for accompaniment! But he found a new theme,
the other day, and has gone mad about it. Now there's nothing to be done
with him. Wrote me ten days ago to say that he absolutely must stay here
this winter to keep his proper musical 'atmosphere.'--Oh these
musicians! Not an ounce of business integrity in the lot of 'em!--Of
course, we could hold him to the contract. But do we want a teacher that
hasn't a thought for his classes?--Anton says, make him go to Moscow! I
say, let him stay here. But I'm worried to death over it. I'd do his
work myse