“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!  Let me put this little thread into it!  Ah, you will hurt my poor thread, my nice little thread!  Keep still!  Come, my love of a judge, judge of my love!  Won’t the thread go nicely into this iron gate, which makes good use of the thread, for it comes out very much out of order?” Then she burst out laughing, for she was better up in this game than the judge, who laughed too, so saucy and comical and arch was she, pushing the thread backwards and forwards.  She kept the poor judge with the case in his hand until seven o’clock, keeping on fidgeting and moving about like a schoolboy let loose; but as La Portillone kept on trying to put the thread in, he could not help it.  As, however, his joint was burning, and his wrist was tired, he was obliged to rest himself for a minute on the side of the table; then very dexterously the fair maid of Portillon slipped the thread in, saying—­

“That’s how the thing occurred.”

“But my joint was burning.”

“So was mine,” said she.

The judge, convinced, told La Portillone that he would speak to Monseigneur du Fou, and would himself carry the affair through, since it was certain the young lord had embraced her against her will, but that for valid reasons he would keep the affair dark.  On the morrow the judge went to the Court and saw Monseigneur du Fou, to whom he recounted the young woman’s complaint, and how she had set forth her case.  This complaint lodged in court, tickled the king immensely.  Young du Fou having said that there was some truth in it, the king asked if he had had much difficulty, and as he replied, innocently, “No,” the king declared the girl was quite worth a hundred gold crowns, and the chamberlain gave them to the judge, in order not to be taxed with stinginess, and said the starch would be a good income to La Portillone.  The judge came back to La Portillone, and said, smiling, that he had raised a hundred gold crowns for her.  But if she desired the balance of the thousand, there were at that moment in the king’s apartments certain lords who, knowing the case, had offered to make up the sum for her, with her consent.  The little hussy did not refuse this offer, saying, that in order to do no more washing in the future she did not mind doing a little hard work now.  She gratefully acknowledged the trouble the good judge had taken,