On the occasion I have mentioned, we entered the front of the house, and Fokine watched a bit of the performance with me, standing in the back of the auditorium. He had no comment, which was unusual for him. After watching for a time, I asked Fokine if he would care to meet his old colleague. He said he would. Together we felt our way back stage in the dimly lighted passages. The pass-door to back-stage was even darker. I stood aside to let Fokine precede me. Then my heart nearly stopped. Fokine stumbled and nearly fell prostrate on the iron-concrete steps. He picked himself up, brushed himself off. “Mikhail Mikhailovitch,” I said, half frightened to death, “you must be careful.” “It is nothing,” he replied, “but why in hell isn’t the place properly lighted?” The meeting with Bolm, who had made Fokine’s favorite ballet even more exciting than it actually was, was cordial enough, cool, and uneventful. Bolm was by far the more demonstrative. Their conversation was general rather than particular. Fokine and I looked over the stage, its size and its equipment. Fokine thanked Bolm, apologized for the interruption, and took his leave. As we felt our way out to the street, Fokine’s only comment on _Le Coq d’Or_ was, “The women’s shawls should be farther back on the head. They are quite impossible when worn like that. And when they weep, they should weep.” Fokine was a stickler for detail. In conversation about dancing, over and over again he would use two Russian words, “_Naslajdaites_” and “_laska_.” Freely translated, those Russian words suggest “do it as though you enjoyed yourself” and “caressingly.” The programme for the appearances at the Metropolitan had been carefully worked out, balanced with joint performances, solos for each, with symphony orchestra interludes while Michel and Vera were changing costumes. For the opening performance it was decided that Michel and Vera would jointly do the lovely waltz from _Les Sylphides_; a group of Caucasian dances to music arranged by Asafieff; the Mazurka from Delibes’ _Coppélia_; and a group of five Russian dances by Liadov. Fokine himself would do the male solo, the Mazurka from _Les Sylphides_, and a Liadov _Berceuse_; while Vera’s solo contributions would be _The Dying Swan_, and the arrangement Fokine made for her of Beethoven’s “_Moonlight Sonata_.” The advertising campaign was under full steam ahead, and rehearsals were well under way. So well were things going, in fact, that I relaxed my habitual pre-opening tension for a moment at my home, which was, in those days, in Brooklyn. I even missed a rehearsal, since Fokine was at his very best, keen and interested, and the music was in the able hands of Arnold Volpe, a musician who worked passionately for the highest artistic aims, a Russian-born American [Illustration: _Baron_ S. Hurok] [Illustration: _Lucas-Pritchard_ Mrs. Hurok] [Illustration: _Lido_ Lubov Egorova and Solange Schwartz] [Illustration: Marie Rambert]