“A hunter by the name of Joseph-Antoine stopped off at the Caseblanche high mountain chalet (arbé) one foggy evening and used the few logs left there to make a fire for himself. He had barricaded the door with a tree stump, saying to himself as he grew warmer, “Even the Devil couldn't get in here now!” Around midnight, although there couldn’t have been anybody living nearby in that season, he was woken up by the sound of a herd approaching, cowbells a-jangle, accompanied by a party of “montagnards”, who set about milking their cows. They chopped wood, fed the fire, washed the dishes… The herd seemed to have gone on its way… But more and more herdsmen flocked into the chalet, sitting themselves down at table and filling their bowls with curds. “They’re eating”, he said to himself, “and after they’ve finished, perhaps they’ll get back to their work and leave me in peace”. But suddenly he heard a sharp, nasal voice from down below, drowning out the clattering of their spoons: “Hey there, we’re forgetting that funny young fellow asleep up there! We must make him a bowl of curds like all the rest”. When he heard those words, Joseph-Antoine’s hair stood on end. Without even taking the time to put his shoes on, he leapt out of bed in terror, ripped up a floorboard, jumped down and fled to the village as fast as his legs would carry him, without taking any notice of the voices calling him back. The shoes he left at the chalet were never found, nor was his hat, which he lost in his flight. The devil had doubtless kept them as his spoils.” Told by Joseph Marcoz, Le Villard des Allues, November 1964, in "Récits et contes populaires de Savoie”, Gallimard, 1980.