nother. But perhaps in that brief
hour, when her bitter tongue had so belied the crushed emotion of her
heart, Madame Dravikine regretted, not for the first time, her cruel
rejection of the young man who, it was plain to see, had retained his
fidelity to her unhappy child through all his years of separation from
her and ignorance concerning her married life.

* * * * *

Despite the plans of Nicholas Rubinstein, his departure for Moscow, and,
by consequence, that of the under-teacher, was delayed for some weeks;
and it was only on the evening of October 2d that Ivan, with all his
earthly belongings in the two valises beside him, and his whole
fortune--forty roubles--in his pocket, stood by his companion in front
of the Petersburg station in Moscow, waiting for a droschky and looking
once more upon the lights and many-colored domes of his native city.

Three hours later, in a comfortable little room on the third floor of a
dingy house of the Brionsovskaia, three men, who had been lingering over
a hearty supper, rose to their feet, glasses in hand, to repeat the
toast just suggested by the youngest of the trio:

"To the Conservatoire of Moscow--and her director: the friend and
benefactor of all Russian musicians,--Nicholas Rubinstein!"

The first six words rang out from three voices; but before the rest the
oldest man put down his glass, laughing as he said:

"You prevent my drinking, Ivan Mikhailovitch. No. Let the rest of the
toast be: 'to the friendship of the three who inhabit this apartment:
thou Boris, and thou Ivan,--star of the future, and finally my old,
plain self!'"

Boris Shradik, the young violinist who formed the third inmate of the
Rubinstein apartment, quickly seized the speaker by the right hand,
while Ivan grasped his left; and then the younger men, setting down
their glasses, clasped hands across the small table.

There was an instant's silence. Then the glasses were drained, and Ivan,
to whom the evening had brought many a throb of sentiment, walked away
to the window for a moment, while even Rubinstein loudly cleared his
throat.--They are an emotional people, these musicians; and, despite the
pettiness which success seems to raise in them, they are, in private
life, genial and generous, and intensely loyal to their kind.

It was not wonderful that the youngest professor of the Conservatoire
speedily made himself at home in his new abode. Moscow might hold many
s