Ulenspiegel passed, one day in the month of August, in the rue de Flandre at Brussels, before the house of Jean Sapermillemente, so called because his paternal grandsire when angry used to swear in this fashion as so to avoid blaspheming the most holy name of God. The said Sapermillemente was a master broiderer by trade; but having grown deaf and blind by dint of drinking, his wife, an old gossip with a sour face, broidered in his stead the coats, doublets, cloaks, and shoes of the lords. Her pretty young daughter helped her in this well-paid work.
Passing before the aforesaid house in the last hours of daylight, Ulenspiegel saw the girl at the window and heard her crying aloud:
"August, August Tell me, sweet month, ho will take me to wife, Tell me, sweet month?"
"I will," said Ulenspiegel, "if you like."
"Thou?" said she. "Come nearer that I may see thee." But he:
"Whence comes it that you are calling in August what the Brabant girls call on the Eve of March?"
"Those girls," she said, "have only one month to give them a husband; I have twelve, and on the eve of each, not at midnight but for six hours up to midnight, I jump out of my bed, I take three steps backwards towards the window, I cry what you have heard; then returning, I take three steps backwards towards the bed, and at midnight, going to bed, I fall asleep, dreaming of the husband I shall have. But the months, the sweet months, being mockers by nature, 'tis not of one husband I dream now, but of twelve together; you shall be the thirteenth if you will."
"The others would be jealous," answered Ulenspiegel. "You cry also 'Deliverance'."
"I cry 'Deliverance' and know what I ask for."
"I know, too, and I am bringing it to you," answered Ulenspiegel.
"You must wait," said she, smiling and showing her white teeth.
"Wait," said Ulenspiegel, "nay. A house may fall on my head, a gust of wind might blow me into a ditch, a mad pug might bite me in the leg; nay, I shall not wait."
"I am too young," said she, "and only cry this for custom's sake."
Ulenspiegel became suspicious, thinking that it is on the Eve of March and not of the corn month that the Brabant girls cry to have a husband.
"I am too young and only cry this for the sake of the old custom."