dson was falsely accused of complicity in the poisoning of Count
Amedee VII of Savoy, and although declared innocent by a royal French
tribunal, was again implacably accused by his rival in love, Count
Estavayer, on his return to his estates. Calling God to witness that his
accuser lied, he consented to defend and prove his innocence in a trial
of arms, where, in the presence of his suzerain and of his council and
knights assembled, he fell mortally wounded at the feet of his opponent.
No effort was made by Count Rodolphe to defend his relative, while
Rodolphe le Jeune was not only an unprotesting witness of his undeserved
and tragic fate, but the purchaser with his father's assistance of the
confiscated Grandson estates. Again, although selling the newly acquired
chateaux of Oron and Palezieux to increase their revenues, the two
Rodolphes, in total disregard of the rights of the new owners, attempted
to retake them by force of arms, and except for the immediate
intervention of the count of Savoy, would have plunged the newly
pacified country into a general war.

An enchanting legend regarding the first wife of Count Rodolphe
illuminates the dismal story of his inglorious reign. Marguerite
d'Alamandi has been confused in the tradition with Marguerite de
Grandson, the second wife of Rodolphe. It is Marguerite d'Alamandi, and
not the other Marguerite who is the heroine of the tale which has been
elaborated into a moving little drama by a poet pastor of the eighteenth
century, and which beautifully preserves the customs and the atmosphere
of that distant time.

Countess Marguerite of Gruyere, so runs the story, was so sadly
afflicted that she had borne no heir, that she had no longer any joy in
her fair castle, no comfort with her beloved lord. Vainly journeying to
distant shrines, as vainly invoking the aid of sorcerers and magicians,
she went one day, clad as one of her poor subjects, to pray in the
chapel at the foot of the Gruyere hill. There, as the November day was
closing, poor Jean the cripple, well known through the country, came
also to tell his beads. Very simple and kindly was poor Jean, with
always the same blessing for those who gave him food or mocked him with
cruel jeers. Perceiving in the shadow a poor woman sadly weeping, he
gave her all his day's begging, a piece of black bread with a morsel of
coarse cheese, repeating his usual blessing, "May God and our Lady grant
thee all thy noble heart desires." Th