o January perfect--save,
possibly, for a single gap in the royal coterie, and that in a spot that
she did not habitually frequent. As a matter of fact, it was only in
January that there returned to the capital, after nearly a year's
absence, possibly, the Empress excepted, the finest woman in Petersburg:
sister of the Iron Czar, and aunt of the present Emperor--the
Grand-Duchess Helena Pavlovna, voluntary leader of the reform party in
the capital. This great lady, immediately upon her return, doffed her
prolonged mourning and threw open once more the doors of her famous
_salon_. And it was through her--sister of kings--that Ivan, flocking
with the rest of his world to her famous drawing-rooms, returned after a
little, back to his best self.

Her Royal Highness was a pattern of energy in all she undertook; and it
had been the habit of her lifetime to receive three evenings a week. On
Monday, on Wednesday, and on Friday she was at home: on each night to a
different world. On Mondays, with Milutin throned on her right hand, she
received the homage of the various members of the Council, each with his
pet bundle of intrigues; and deftly encouraged the clamor of controversy
sure to be roused among these ministers of varied persuasion. On
Wednesdays she sat alone in the centre of her _salon_, laughing at and
with the pretty world that came to flutter about her, in its richest
plumage and most changeable humor. Finally, on Friday, she rewarded
herself for duties done. Dressed quietly in black, with merely a scrap
of old point on her high, white head, she gave her hands, her brains,
and the refinement of her fine senses to--the musicians and the music of
Russia. For music was her recreation and her passion; and she had
created for it and for herself such a _salon_ as is scarcely to be
equalled in history. No caste save that of ability was known on these
nights. Artists, uncouth and shy, who would have flown at the thought of
a royal command, flocked hither, sure of a genial welcome, artistic
appreciation, and absolute freedom from the dreaded fashionables of the
unknown world. For the Emperor himself could hardly have got an
invitation to his royal aunt's Fridays "at home."

It was Vladimir de Windt (who, upon further acquaintance, betrayed many
hidden and unexpected talents,) who carried Ivan, experimentally, to one
of these Fridays. For de Windt, who had in him, deeply hidden, tenderly
cherished, that germ of artistic compreh