 The great Russian ballerina Anna Pavlova has been dead now for many years, but her many admirers still recall with pleasure and nostalgia those inspiring moments when they watched her dance her great masterpiece, The Swan. Yet few of those admirers know of the most amazing incident connected with her life. It is an incident that occurred three months after she died. When news came of Pavlova's death, there was sorrow backstage in every theater in the world. One of those who felt especially bereaved was a young English ballerina named Frances Togel. She was so much greater than the rest of us, and no one will ever dance as she did. Three months later, she was to remember what she had said, but that of course was only after she had started rehearsing her new ballet. The ballet that her composer friend told her about the day after Pavlova's death. It'll be the story of her life and work. Twirlin, I thought you'd find anyone to do the lead. You? Oh no, I'm much taller than she was. I can't even do it three times to the point. You're still going to do the lead for me. John, imagine me playing Pavlova. A month later, is the pianist to rehearse the company. Two intensely interested spectators sat in the darkened auditorium. One was the composer himself. The other was Lady Eleanor Smith. This is her big number. The climax of the whole thing. I tried to get as close to Pavlova's swan as possible. You mean it's the same routine as the swan? No, not the same exactly. Francis couldn't touch the original, of course, but it's rather similar to it without being so difficult. Watch her, Lady Eleanor. I won't cure the opinion of this. And so Lady Eleanor Smith leaned forward, watching Francis Stober with a sharp and critical eye. She leaned forward, but only for an instant, and then she was sitting both up right in her seat, clutching the composer's arm. John! John, who is that up there? Why, it's Francis, of course. Who else could it be? He doesn't look like her. That isn't Francis' figure at all. Looks smaller, doesn't he? Smaller, and more delicate, and lighter. Almost like... like... Yes, I knew. Like Pavlova. That's not the way Francis did with Francis, John. She's never been that effortless before. There's only one dance in the world who ever has been. What does this mean, John? Could that be... It could be this. No, of course not. But Francis' all right, and I can't understand what's happened to her. The two spectators sat in stunned silence for a moment, staring incredulously at the figure on the stage. And then suddenly the composer was on its feet. Good heavens! What is it, John? That's not the routine she's been rehearsing. Three? He'll answer that point. Yes, and that's something Francis can't do. She's never done it in her life. She told me so herself. The moment the dance ended, the composer tore himself from his chair and ran wildly down the aisle. Tell me how in heaven's name you did that. Did what? I don't know what you're talking about. Francis Doble had no recollection whatsoever of having danced the scene. It was an incident without parallel. An incident incredible but true.