Since my Europe-bound plane was departing within a few hours, it was necessary that all the voluminous documents be drawn up and signed before my departure. The lawyers, Lidji, Sokoloff, and my own legal adviser and friend, Elias Lieberman, worked on these as we sipped hot, black coffee, for the millionth time. The sun was bright when we gathered round a table in the Fifth Avenue apartment where de Basil was a guest, and affixed our signatures. It was six o’clock in the morning. At twelve o’clock my plane rose over La Guardia and headed for Paris. It was the first commercial plane to make the flight to Paris after the War. Mrs. Hurok, Mae Frohman, and Mr. and Mrs. Artur Rubinstein were at the field to wish me “bon voyage.” In Paris I met the Marquis and Marquessa de Cuevas, the latter a gracious lady of charm and taste. Food was short in Paris, hard to find, and of dubious quality. Somehow, the Marquessa had been able to secure a chicken from her farm outside Paris, and we managed a dinner. I explained the settlement I had made with de Basil to the Marquis, and urged his cooperation joining de Basil as Artistic Director, hoping that, as a result, something fine could be built, given time and patience. Such an arrangement would also permit at least some of the Marquis’s repertoire from deteriorating in the store-house, and bring the works before a new and larger public. Carerras, the manager for the Marquis at the time, was flatly opposed to de Cuevas cooperating in any way with the “Colonel,” but eventually de Cuevas decided to do what, once again, proved to be the impossible, viz., to collaborate with the Caucasian de Basil. This much having been settled, I went on to London, where I saw the Sadler’s Wells Ballet at Covent Garden for the first time; shortly afterwards I left for California, to spend a little time at my Beverly Hills home which I had maintained during the war. On my arrival in California, there were messages from my office awaiting me. They were disturbing. Already troubles were brewing. The de Basil repertoire was in dubious condition. Something must be done, and at once. Moreover, despite de Basil’s assurances, the repertoire was too small in size and was inadequately rehearsed. I left for New York by the first available plane. On my arrival in New York, I quickly made arrangements to send John Taras, the young American who had been the choreographer and ballet-master for the Markova-Dolin experiment, to South America to whip the company into shape. With him went a group of American dancers to augment the personnel.