“Jacqueline,” said he, “before I sup I’ll get to the bottom of this.  Now go and fetch my needle and the red thread that I sew the law paper bags with.”

Jacqueline came back with a big needle, pierced with a pretty little hole, and a big red thread, such as the judges use.  Then she remained standing to see the question decided, very much disturbed, as was also the complainant at these mysterious preparations.

“My dear,” said the judge, “I am going to hold the bodkin, of which the eye is sufficiently large, to put this thread into it without trouble.  If you do put it in, I will take up your case, and will make Monseigneur offer you a compromise.”

“What’s that?” said she.  “I will not allow it.”

“It is a word used in justice to signify an agreement.”

“A compromise is then agreeable with justice?” said La Portillone.

“My dear, this violence has also opened your mind.  Are you ready?”

“Yes,” said she.

The waggish judge gave the poor nymph fair play, holding the eye steady for her; but when she wished to slip in the thread that she had twisted to make straight, he moved a little, and the thread went on the other side.  She suspected the judge’s argument, wetted the thread, stretched it, and came back again.  The judge moved, twisted about, and wriggled like a bashful maiden; still this cursed thread would not enter.  The girl kept trying at the eye, and the judge kept fidgeting.  The marriage of the thread could not be consummated, the bodkin remained virgin, and the servant began to laugh, saying to La Portillone that she knew better how to endure than to perform.  Then the roguish judge laughed too, and the fair Portillone cried for her golden crowns.

“If you don’t keep still,” cried she, losing patience; “if you keep moving about I shall never be able to put the thread in.”

“Then, my dear, if you had done the same, Monseigneur would have been unsuccessful too.  Think, too, how easy is the one affair, and how difficult the other.”

The pretty wench, who declared she had been forced, remained thoughtful, and sought to find a means to convince the judge by showing how she had been compelled to yield, since the honour of all poor girls liable to violence was at stake.

“Monseigneur, in order that the bet made the fair, I must do exactly as the young lord did.  If I had only had to move I should be moving still, but he went through other performances.”

“Let us hear them,” replied the judge.

Then La Portillone straightens the thread, and rubs it in the wax of the candle, to make it firm and straight; then she looked towards the eye of the bodkin, held by the judge, slipping always to the right or to the left.  Then she began making endearing little speeches, such as, “Ah, the pretty little bodkin!  What a pretty mark to aim at!  Never did I see such a little jewel!  What a pretty little eye!