finally, a
slender, bright-winged dragon-fly. These, humanely chloroformed and
pasted upon cards, Ivan studied, wondering at his own interest; nor
understood its reason till, by the dark and tortuous ways of
unconscious cerebration, there sprang from his brain, Minerva-like, the
six dances which are incorporated in the most charming ballet of his
time the famous "Reve d'Ete." When, a year later, immediately before its
first production, Monsieur Venara, _maitre de ballet_ of the Royal
Opera, asked the composer for a special _pas_ for his favorite _premiere
danseuse_, Ivan meditated, and returned in spirit to the fields of
Vevey, hunting for one more sprite of field or wood. In vain. He could
think of nothing but an old familiar hedge of eglantine. And to that,
finally, was written the "Rose Waltz" to which Mademoiselle Pakrovsky,
Venara's "discovery," later danced her way through La Scala to Paris,
that end and aim of the dancer's dreams.

In September, the musical journal of Moscow announced the return of
young Monsieur Gregoriev, a distant relative of the Prince
Procureur-General of that name, who was winning no small reputation as a
composer of light music, and who would resume his professorial duties at
the Conservatoire. It was, moreover, rumored that the summer of Monsieur
Gregoriev had been no idle one; but that, he having turned for the first
time to a serious subject, Moscow would that winter have the opportunity
of gauging the young man's talent at the Grand Theatre, when, in
November, Signor Merelli's Italian troupe should begin their season of
winter opera.

For once in a way, that the rule might be proved, the greater part of
this bumptious paragraph was true. Furthermore, as had not been said,
Ivan's name was to appear twice on the programme of the first orchestral
concert of the season, over which the two Rubinsteins were now working
busily. It had been by main force that Nicholas kept two spaces blank
till the return of Ivan from his holiday. But Anton, who was in a
dejected mood, made no great objection when Ivan, filled with a
strange, new sensation of pride, wrote down the titles of two
compositions under his name, on the manuscript programme handed to him,
one evening, in his new abode.

For, this fall, Ivan had taken a long stride towards independence. In
August Shradik had returned to Moscow, to remain throughout the winter.
But young Laroche, whose family had lately lost a large fortune, was no