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 This proved my greatest triumph, for it was already clear to me that the central truth of dirigible ballooning must be ever: "To descend without sacrificing gas and to mount without sacrificing ballast." During these first evolutions over the Champ de Mars I had no particular thought of the Eiffel Tower. At most it seemed a monument worth going round, and so I circled round it at a prudent distance again and again. Then—still without any dream of what the future had in store for me—I made a straight course for the Pare des Princes, over almost the exact line that, two years later, was to mark the Deutsch prize route. I steered to the Pare des Princes because it was another fine open space. Once there, however, I was loth to descend, so, making a hook, I navigated to the manœuvre grounds of Bagatelle, where I finally landed, in souvenir of my fall of the year previous. It was almost at the exact spot where the kite-flying boys had pulled on my guide rope and saved me from a bad shaking-up. At this time, remember, neither the Aéro Club nor myself possessed a balloon park or shed from which to start and to which to return.