MICHEL REVAILLOUD EXPOUNDS HIS PHILOSOPHY That summer was long remembered in Chamonix.

July passed with a procession of cloudless days; valley and peak basked in sunlight.

August came, and on a hot starlit night in the first week of that month Chayne sat opposite to Michel Revailloud in the balcony of a cafe which overhangs the Arve.

Below him the river tumbling swiftly amidst the boulders flashed in the darkness like white fire.

He sat facing the street.