One winter's morning Ivan Behrend, to his great astonishment, received a notice from the president of the Hungarian Academy of Arts and Science. This notice set forth that the members of the physical, scientific, and mathematical department had in the last general assembly chosen him as an honorary member of the before-mentioned departments; and before being elected member of the academy itself he should, in conformity to the established custom, read before the assembly his first address. Ivan was petrified with amazement. How had such an honor come to him? He who had never written a scientific paper in any periodical; who had no connections or friend in the academical assembly, who was not a magnate, or had played no part in political life. He was puzzled; he could not conceive who had brought forward his name. Could it have been, he thought, that in some way his chemical researches had reached their ears? In which case, as he told himself, every director of a mine, every manager of a factory, would be considered a philosopher and made member of the Academy, for every one of them possessed as much knowledge as he did. There was no use in thinking about it; the honor had come to him, and should be accepted. Ivan thought it best not to look the gift-horse in the mouth; he therefore wrote to the secretary, expressing his gratitude for the unlooked-for honor conferred upon him, and stating that towards the end of the year he would present himself in Pesth, and read before the illustrious assembly his inaugural address. Then he considered the subject of this address long and carefully, and spent much of his time over its elaboration. It was an account of microscopical crustations, the study of which he had followed closely during the boring of an artesian well, and which during ten years he had perfectly mastered. It took him until late in the autumn to complete his essay on the subject.

In many places, where such scientific research is valued at its proper merit, his paper would have been appreciated, and would have even caused a sensation; but we are bound in honesty to confess that it did not do so in Pesth, and that during the sixty minutes allowed by the canon law of all institutions for such lectures, the microscopical crustations produced an amount of yawning unprecedented, even among academicians.

After the reading of the lecture was over the very first person to greet the neophyte and offer his congratulations was the AbbÉ Samuel, and then a light burst suddenly upon Ivan. He now saw who it was who had discovered his talents, and who had been his patron. It was something of a fall to his vanity; he had thought—well, it didn't matter, the abbÉ was doubtless as learned as any one in the assembly, and his thanks were due to him. Small attentions, it is said, consolidate friendship.

Ivan decided to spend some days in Pesth; he had business to do. During the week several papers noticed his academical address; the most merciful was one which announced he had given an interesting lecture upon the "Volcanic Origin of the Stalactites." Ivan's only consolation was that in his own country no one read The Referate, and that abroad no one understood it, as it was written in Hungarian. He was wrong, however; some one did read it—but of this again. One day, as Ivan was making his preparations for his homeward journey, he received from the Countess Theudelinde Bondavara a card of invitation for a soirÉe, which would take place three evenings later.

"Aha!" thought Ivan, "another thank-offering. It is well that it did not come sooner."

He sat down to his writing-table and answered the invitation in the most courteous manner, regretting his inability to avail himself of it in consequence of his immediate departure from Pesth. He was in the act of sealing the letter when the door opened and the AbbÉ Samuel was announced. Ivan expressed his great pleasure at receiving so distinguished a visitor.

"I could not let you leave Pesth without coming," answered the abbÉ, in his most friendly manner. "My visit was due, not only because I am much indebted for your kind assistance at Bondavara, but also because I felt it a necessity to tell you what an honor I count it to know such a distinguished scholar as you have proved yourself to be."

Ivan felt inclined to say that he was neither distinguished nor a scholar; he remained, however, silent.

"I trust," continued the abbÉ, seating himself upon the sofa, "that you intend to make a long stay in Pesth?"

"I am leaving to-morrow," returned Ivan, dryly.

"Oh, impossible! We cannot lose you so soon. I imagine you have a card for the Countess Theudelinde's next soirÉe?"

"I regret that I am prevented from accepting her agreeable invitation; I have pressing business which necessitates my return."The abbÉ laughed. "Confess honestly," he said, "that if you had no other reason to return home, you would run away from an entertainment which would bore you infinitely."

"Well, then, if you will have the truth, I do confess that a soirÉe is to me something of a penance."

"These soirÉes, however, are on a different footing from those rÉunions which, I agree with you, are more pain than pleasure, and where a stranger feels himself 'out of it,' as the saying goes. Countess Theudelinde aims at having a salon, and succeeds admirably. She receives all the best people. I don't mean by that generic word only the upper ten, but the best in the true sense, the best that Pesth affords in art, in literature, in science; the aristocracy of birth, talent, and beauty."

Ivan shook his head incredulously. "And how does such a mixed gathering answer?"

The abbÉ did not reply at once; he scratched his nose thoughtfully.

"Until they get to know one another, it is perhaps somewhat stiff. But with intellectual people this stiffness must soon disappear, and each one will do something to keep the ball rolling. You have an excellent delivery; I noticed it the night of your lecture. You could easily find a subject on which to lecture which would interest your listeners by its novelty, surprise them by its profundity, and amuse them by its variety; their intellect and their imagination would be equally engaged."

It was Ivan's turn to laugh, which he did loudly. "My excellent sir, such a subject is unknown to me. I confess my ignorance; neither in print nor in manuscript have I met with it."

The clergyman joined in the laugh.At this moment a servant brought Ivan a despatch, which claimed instant attention, so that the receipt might be given to the messenger who waited for it. Ivan begged his guest to excuse him if he opened this urgent document. The abbÉ, with a wave of his hand, requested him not to mind his presence.

As Ivan read the letter a remarkable change passed over his face; he grew suddenly pale, his eyebrows contracted, then a sudden rush of color came into his cheeks. He held the letter before him, read it several times, while his eyes had a wild stare, as if he had seen a ghost. Then all at once he fell to laughing. He thrust the letter into his pocket, and returned to the subject he had been discussing.

"Yes, yes," he said, "I shall go to Countess Theudelinde's soirÉe, and I shall give a lecture before her guests such as they have never heard the equal; that I promise you. Science and poetry, imagination and learning mixed together, with dates and genealogy, so that the savants present will not know what to think; I shall give a lecture which will make every geologist a prince, and every princess a geologist. Do you follow me?"

"Perfectly," returned the other; not, indeed, that he saw what Ivan meant, but that he wished to encourage him. "That will be the very thing—first-rate!"

"What do you say to illustrations by means of an electric-magnetic machine, eh?"

"A capital idea, and amusing. My dear friend, you will have a succÈs."

"May I ask you to convey to the countess my acceptance of her invitation? I shall require a large apparatus."

"I can assure you in advance that the countess will be charmed at your kind offer. As for the apparatus and arrangement, leave that to her, she will be overjoyed when she hears that she is to expect you."

The abbÉ then took his leave, fully contented with his visit. Ivan again read his letter, and again sat staring into space, as if a ghost had appeared to him.

People said the Countess Theudelinde's SoirÉes Amalgamantes would certainly make history. The mixture was excellent: grandees jostled elbows with poets; academicians with prelates; musicians, painters, sculptors, actors, critics, professors, physicians, editors, sportsmen, and politicians of all shades gathered under one roof. It was a bold experiment, a brilliant society in thesi. Neither was there wanting the element of female attraction; all that Pesth held of beauty, charm, and grace lent its aid to the scheme of amalgamation.

Count Stefan, a cousin of Countess Theudelinde, was a great help to her soirÉes, for he was a well-informed and cultivated young man, able to talk on all subjects, and especially on the poetry of the world. As for the Countess Angela, she was a classic beauty; her grandfather was a political celebrity—a great man, who had a surrounding of all kinds, bad and good. It was therefore quite in keeping, according to the usages of society, that when an unfortunate outsider was presented to Countess Angela, he should, after the third word or so, make mention of her illustrious grandfather, Prince Theobald of Bondavara, and inquire after his health. After this question, however, the Countess Angela never addressed the stranger another word. She allowed him to speak, if he so wished, and to retire in some confusion. Even the most dried-up specimen of university learning felt aggrieved. His heart could not resist the first glance of those heavenly eyes, so sweet and friendly, now so cold and haughty. And yet what had he done? The poor man will probably never know; he is not in the inner circle.

Countess Angela was indeed a perfect ideal beauty; this cannot be too often repeated. A pure, noble face, with classical, well-proportioned features, nose and lips finely cut, long, straight eyebrows and lashes, which veiled the eyes of a goddess. When these eyes glowed, or when they were half-closed under their downy lids, they looked black, but when they laughed at you, you would swear they were blue. Her hair was rich, of that most lovely of all shades, chestnut brown; her whole countenance betrayed that she knew herself to be charming, that she was aware that she was the centre, at all times, of admiration, and that such knowledge pleased her well. And why not? A woman must be very silly not to be aware that beauty is a gift and a power.

But what was the reason of her cold looks at the mention of her grandfather's name? Just what one might expect from a woman with her face. All the world—that is, her world—knew that she and her grandfather, Prince Theobald of Bondavara, were at daggers drawn. The wily old politician had given his only and beautiful granddaughter to a German, Prince Sondersheim. She was to consolidate some political matter, only she didn't see it in that light, and refused to ratify the bargain, not caring for Sondersheim; and, for the matter of that, neither did he care for her. But, then, it didn't mean so much to him. Angela had her ideal of married life, however, and so she quarrelled with her grandfather because he pooh-poohed her ideals and called them romantic folly. Upon this she vowed she would never speak to him again, and he, being angry, told her to leave his house, which she did at once, and came to her Aunt Theudelinde, who had just set up at Pesth, and was glad to have so bright and beautiful a niece. Since then she had refused all communication with her grandfather. This was the reason that she would not even hear his name mentioned; and it never was, except by ignorant outsiders, or "know-nothings," as the Yankees call them.

The AbbÉ Samuel had wit enough to see that the SoirÉes Amalgamantes were not the success they should be. Conversation did not suffice; amalgamation was at a standstill. The young girls sat in one room, the married women in another; the men herded together, looking glum, but not so bored as the women. Then the abbÉ, considering what ought to be done, had a happy idea. He introduced dramatic representations, dramatic readings, concerts, which were a decided success. Soon conversation became lively, strangers got to know one another; when they rehearsed together duets and little pieces their stiffness wore off. The women seemed different in morning dress, free from the restraints of the grand toilette; they grew quite friendly, and later on they found a subject upon which they discoursed quite at their ease. It must be confessed, however, that after midnight, when the readings, the concert, or the representation was over, and the outsiders had gone home to their beds, society began to enjoy itself. The young people danced, the old played whist or tarok, and they stayed till daybreak. They would have done the same had the scientists, the poets, the artists remained; they didn't want them to leave, but, naturally, these people felt themselves out of it, and, besides, they could not sit up all night like the others, so they went home very properly; they knew their place.

The AbbÉ Samuel understood how to manage matters. Whenever the countess was to have a particularly good evening he took care it should get talked about, and the names of the performers, their parentage and history, together with any interesting circumstance, true or false, should be subjects of conversation for days before. In this way he sent about Ivan Behrend's name with a great many details as to his interesting life in the mines, his extraordinary cleverness, and the wonderful lecture he was going to give at the countess's next soirÉe.

The abbÉ knew his world, and how to whet its curiosity by exaggerated reports.

"Is it true that, for one experiment only, he burned a brilliant belonging to Countess Theudelinde which was worth eight hundred gulden?"

"The stone weighed four carats, and was worth fifteen hundred pounds."

"We must give him a good reception. See, here he comes, escorted by AbbÉ Samuel!"

The gentleman who had just spoken, and who was the Countess Angela's cousin, was Count Edmund, a handsome young man of about twenty-two years of age. He hastened to meet Ivan and the abbÉ as they entered the door, and introduced himself as nephew to the lady of the house. He took Ivan by the arm in the most friendly manner, and led him to Count Stefan, uncle to the countess. The count was a man of intelligence and reading; he assured Ivan there were those in the room who were much interested to hear his lecture. After this he was presented by his new friend to several distinguished-looking persons with decorations, who all pressed his hand, and spoke in the most friendly manner. The beginning of the evening was the most agreeable portion. The abbÉ and Ivan finally made their way into the next room, where the ladies were assembled, and here they found the Countess Theudelinde, who received them, and especially Ivan, most graciously. The young man, Count Edmund, again took possession of him, and, laughing and talking, led him up to the Countess Angela, to whom he was introduced with a great flourish. Before this lovely vision Ivan bowed, feeling somewhat stunned, yet not shy or awkward.

"You come very seldom to Pesth," said the young countess, with a reassuring smile.

"It is some time since I have been here; but I understand this is your first visit, countess. You have never lived in Pesth?"

Angela's face assumed its cold expression; she felt sure he was going to inquire for Prince Theobald.

"I do not see," she said, in a sarcastic voice, "what it is to any one whether I have ever been in Pesth."

"It is not an uncommon accident," returned Ivan, quietly, "that a man visits a place where he has never been before; but when many people meet in the same spot, it looks as if there was something more than accident in such a gathering; and in this instance, where so many brilliant personages are brought together, it seems as if Providence had more to do with it than mere chance."

At these words Angela's face cleared. "Then you believe in Providence? you acknowledge there is such a thing as Divine ordinance?"

"Undoubtedly, I do believe."

"Then we shall be friends." She turned away as she spoke, and Ivan took this movement as a signal to retire.

After a quarter of an hour's further waiting, Edmund came to tell him that everything was in readiness in the lecture-room, and the company had already gathered there in considerable numbers. Ivan, therefore, ascended the stage, which had been erected at the farther end of the large room, and, holding his papers in his hand, addressed his audience. He had a pleasant voice, his manner of address was perfectly unaffected, composed, and taking. From the first moment he held the attention of the audience—his subject was Magnetism.