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of my mother, who had been living in Chamonix for some time now, he sent me to be a boarder in a de luxe establishment in that capital of the mountaineering world. Unfortunately this school was much less well-run than the one at Villard-de-Lans, and the atmosphere was not at all pleasant. In any case I had no further illusions as to the utility of the studies I was forced to pursue.
    In these circumstances I soon lost all interest in my work, and all my energies went into the one activity that gave me any satisfaction in life: skiing. Happily for me the school’s timetable, though fuller than the one at Villard, made it possible for me to train every Thursday and to take part in Sunday competitions. As I could not get away until Sunday morning, I was, however, limited to the events held in the valley, and anything more than local was out of the question. This restriction of my freedom of movement led to some rather comic events. Having been selected to go in for the championships of France at Luchon, in the Pyrenees, I asked permission to be absent from school for a week in order to compete. As was quite normal, my request was rejected. At that time nothing seemed more important in my eyes than to compete in the championships, so I made up my mind to run away from school. For several days I was busy making preparations for my escape. On the night itself there was nothing more to it than to leave a message on my bunk, to open a first-storey window and throw out my sack, then to jump after it into the snow. A quarter of an hour later I was in the train, and by the time my absence was noticed next morning I was far away on the plains, rolling swiftly towards the distant Pyrenees.
    My father telephoned to Luchon to say that for this once he threw in the sponge, but that he relied on me to return promptly as soon as the competitions were over. I did very well in the event, and was asked to compete, all expenses paid, in the ‘Grand Prix de Provence’ at Barcellonnette. Without a moment’s hesitation I went straight off to this jolly little southern resort, where I skied brilliantly and carried off third place in the overall classification. But just as I was joyfully getting ready for the prize-giving, I saw two rather embarrassed-looking policemen arriving. With strong local accents they explained that, my father having alerted the police, they had no choice but to put me on the next train.
    After this escapade the college refused to take me back, and my father, no doubt by now completely dispirited at having engendered such a monster, seemed not to take much further interest in my fate. Finding myself free as the air and haloed with the glory of a star in the ascendant, I was in a position to reply to the numerous invitations I received from organisers of ski events. I took part in all the main occasions towards the end of the season and scored some gratifying successes, notably the downhill from the Brèche de la Meije, where I triumphed over a field which included the world champion James Couttet and several other members of the national team.
    Reading these tales of a naughty boy, it would be easy to suppose that I was a typical playboy son of a rich father, spoiled by having too much money, imagining he could do anything because his parents were comfortably off, giving himself up to a life of laziness and pleasure. In fact nothing could be farther from the truth. I had so little money that to break a pair of skis was practically a disaster. If, moreover, the differences between my parents made possible a degree of liberty of which many boys would have taken advantage to have a gay time, the opposite was true in my case. My nature was so shy and reserved that I led an almost ascetic life, taking little part in the typical pleasures of my age despite the easy successes my physique could have ensured me. I devoted myself to skiing almost with mysticism, and far from going a round of gaiety I was acutely worried