et of broken
chords.

At the beginning of the second part of the development the performer,
exalted, even a little intoxicated with his sense of success, essayed a
bit of improvisation considerably more important than the first. This
time he ceased absolutely to follow Rubinstein's harmony, and, retaining
simply the melody, changed, however, to a minor key, he produced an odd,
rhythmical little series of syncopations so rich, so strange, and withal
so unlawful that when, omitting the conventional _cadenza_, he plunged
into a coda of his own, Rubinstein flew furiously to the piano and would
have struck the youth's hands from the keys but for a gesture from her
Highness so imperious and so unmistakable that the great pianist's angry
protests died upon his lips, and he joined, perforce, in the tumult of
applause that ended the unparalleled performance.

Ivan found himself the centre of an intensely curious throng.
Congratulation, commendation of a two-edged sort, questions and
ejaculations, flew round him like hail. Then there fell a sudden silence
as the Princess, leaning heavily on her cane, approached the piano
through a little lane respectfully opened for her in the throng. But it
was to Rubinstein, not Ivan, that she addressed herself:

"What has this young man been about, Anton?--Your style is certainly
very much improved!"

"Your Highness, it was not my barcarolle you heard, but a clever bit of
improvisation on my theme--my own development having proved, no doubt,
too much for Monsieur Gregoriev's technique."

Helena Pavlovna cast one answering look at this man whose musical talent
was surpassed only by his well-known, frantic jealousy of every possible
rival. And then, taking the abashed Ivan by the hand, she turned and
faced her guests:

"My friends, we have listened, to-night, to the debut of one of Russia's
talented sons. I introduce to you, in Monsieur Ivan Mikhailovitch
Gregoriev, a new composer; one who, a Russian of Russians, shall, I
predict, carry the songs of our country beyond herself, and proclaim
them over civilized Europe!"

A smile of self-forgetfulness, of an enthusiasm that betrayed the beauty
of her royal soul, shone upon the lips and from the eyes of this true
Princess, as Ivan, his heart beating to suffocation, fell impetuously
upon one knee before her and raised her frail hand to his lips.

It was indeed his debut in the Russian world of music; and alas! it
gained for him fewer friend