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“It will be for the first time.”

“It will be soon,” said he.

Some people say that he had great difficulty in forcing her to accept what he offered her, and hardly forced her at all; others that he forced her badly, because she came out like an army flagging on the route, crying and groaning, and came to the judge. It happened that the judge was out. La Portillone awaited his return in his room, weeping and saying to the servant that she had been robbed, because Monseigneur du Fou had given her nothing but his mischief; whilst a canon of the Chapter used to give her large sums for that which M. du Fou wanted for nothing. If she loved a man she would think it wise to do things for him for nothing, because it would be a pleasure to her; but the chamberlain had treated her roughly, and not kindly and gently, as he should have done, and that therefore he owed her the thousand crowns of the canon. Then the judge came in, saw the wench, and wished to kiss her, but she put herself on guard, and said she had come to make a complaint. The judge replied that certainly she could have the offender hanged if she liked, because he was most anxious to serve her. The injured maiden replied that she did not wish the death of her man, but that he should pay her a thousand gold crowns, because she had been robbed against her will.

“Ha! ha!” said the judge, “what he took was worth more than that.”

“For the thousand crowns I’ll cry quits, because I shall be able to live without washing.”

“He who has robbed you, is he well off?”

“Oh yes.”

“Then he shall pay dearly for it. Who is it?”

“Monseigneur du Fou.”

“Oh, that alters the case,” said the judge.

“But justice?” said she.

“I said the case, not the justice of it,” replied the judge. “I must know how the affair occurred.”

Then the girl related naively how she was arranging the young lord’s ruffles in his wardrobe, when he began to play with her skirt, and she turned round saying–

“Go on with you!”

“You have no case,” said the judge, “for by that speech he thought that you gave him leave to go on. Ha! ha!”

Then she declared that she had defended herself, weeping and crying out, and that that constitutes an assault.

“A wench’s antics to incite him,” said the judge.

Finally, La Portillone declared that against her will she had been taken round the waist and thrown, although she had kicked and cried and struggled, but that seeing no help at hand, she had lost courage.

“Good! good!” said the judge. “Did you take pleasure in the affair?”

“No,” said she. “My anguish can only be paid for with a thousand crowns.”

“My dear,” said the judge, “I cannot receive your complaint, because I believe no girl could be thus treated against her will.”

“Hi! hi! hi! Ask your servant,” said the little laundress, sobbing, “and hear what she’ll tell you.”

The servant affirmed that there were pleasant assaults and unpleasant ones; that if La Portillone had received neither amusement nor money, either one or the other was due to her. This wise counsel threw the judge into a state of great perplexity.

“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.”