Perhaps I was. “What are you trying to do?” she went on. “Trying to kill yourself?” Perhaps I was. It was not a matter of trying; but it could be. While de Basil was working his way back from South America with his little band, he managed to secure another engagement in Mexico City. It was there that that interesting figure of the world of ballet and its allied arts, the Marquis de Cuevas, saw the de Basil organization. The Marquis, a colorful gentleman of taste and culture, is, perhaps, the outstanding example we have today of the sincere and talented amateur in and patron of the arts. He is a European-American, despite his South American birth. He had a disastrous season of ballet in New York, in 1944, with his Ballet International, for which he bought a theatre, and lost nigh on to a million dollars in a two-months’ season--which may, to date, be the most expensive lesson in how not to make a ballet. Today the Marquis’s company functions as a part of the European scene. During his initial season in New York, he had created a reasonably substantial repertoire, including four works of quality I felt could be added to the de Basil repertoire in combination, in the event I succeeded in coming to terms with the “Colonel.” These works were _Sebastian_, _The Mute Wife_, _Constantia_, and _Pictures at an Exhibition_. After viewing the de Basil company in Mexico City, the Marquis had an idea that it might be wise for him to join up with the “Colonel.” Returning to New York, the Marquis came to me to discuss the matter. I succeeded in dissuading him from investing and buying the worn-out scenery, costumes, and properties, which were, to all intents and purposes, valueless. The Marquis departed for France. As the protracted negotiations with de Basil continued, I cabled the Marquis, informing him that I had parted with Ballet Theatre, and that I was negotiating with de Basil. Pointing out my obligations to the local managers, and to the Metropolitan Opera House, I asked the Marquis if he would participate, or contribute a certain amount of money, and add his repertoire to that of the “Colonel.” The final de Basil conference before my scheduled departure for Europe commenced early. The night wore on. We were again on the verge of reaching an agreement. By two o’clock in the morning the possibility had diminished and receded into the same vague, seemingly unattainable distance where it had so long rested. Then, shortly after four o’clock, the pieces suddenly all fell into place, with all of us, including Mae Frohman, in a state of complete exhaustion, as the verbal agreement was reached. The bland, imperturbable, expressionless de Basil was the sole exception, at least to outward appearances.