It is a tiny village in the Vallée de Joux, nestling between lake and forest, where all of nature is celebrating the arrival of spring. Inthe main street, the school stands right next to the watch factory. As the seasons go by, the pupils’ day is given its distinctive rhythm by the cadence of the Manufacture clock.

At recess, while his classmates are enjoying this long-awaited break, Pierre is seated on a bench. He is looking at the half-open factory door, sniffing the odour or oil pervading its floors, and dreaming… Later, as he often does of an evening, he will go and take a stroll there…

- “So, kids, which of you has been punished today? Who did the naughtiest thing?” Standing on the front step of the Manufacture, Reynold, the old watchmaker, jolts him out of his daydream. Pierre smiles and tells him the day’s misadventures, emphasising the teacher’s severity on several occasions.

- “But Pierre is a rock name!” exclaims the old man, as if he had suddenly realised something vitally important.

The other children who had meanwhile surrounded the watchmaker laughed out loud, but Pierre remained silent. He finds the remark obvious, of course, and yet totally unexpected from the lips of this man who he so greatly admires.

Today, Pierre has grown up. In the same village, a stone’s throw from the school, he is founding his own company. He has named it Pierre DeRoche in tribute to the watchmaker who had unknowingly dubbed him thus so long ago… And recognised his still secret passion for the art of Haute Horlogerie.