was it Kuhleborn?" said Huldbrand, with a secret
shudder, to his beautiful bride, when they had taken leave of
Bertalda, and were now going home through the darkening streets.

"Yes, it was he," replied Undine, "and he was going to say all sorts
of nonsensical things to me. But, in the midst, quite contrary to
his intention, he delighted me with a most welcome piece of news. If
you wish to hear it at once, my dear lord and husband, you have but
to command, and I will tell it you without reserve. But if you would
confer a real pleasure on your Undine, you will wait till the day
after to-morrow, and you will then have your share too in the
surprise."

The knight gladly complied with his wife's desire, which had been
urged so sweetly, and as she fell asleep, she murmured smilingly to
herself: "Dear, dear Bertalda! How she will rejoice and be
astonished at what her master of the fountain told me!"

CHAPTER XI.

THE ANNIVERSARY OF BERTALDA'S NAME-DAY.

The company were sitting at dinner; Bertalda, looking like some
goddess of spring with her flowers and jewels, the presents of her
foster-parents and friends, was placed between Undine and Huldbrand.
When the rich repast was ended, and the last course had appeared,
the doors were left open, according to a good old German custom,
that the common people might look on, and take part in the festivity
of the nobles. Servants were carrying round cake and wine among the
spectators. Huldbrand and Bertalda were waiting with secret
impatience for the promised explanation, and sat with their eyes
fixed steadily on Undine. But the beautiful wife still continued
silent, and only kept smiling to herself with secret and hearty
satisfaction. All who knew of the promise she had given could see
that she was every moment on the point of betraying her happy
secret, and that it was with a sort of longing renunciation that she
withheld it, just as children sometimes delay the enjoyment of their
choicest morsels. Bertalda and Huldbrand shared this delightful
feeling, and expected with fearful hope the tidings which were to
fall from the lips of Undine. Several of the company pressed Undine
to sing. The request seemed opportune, and ordering her lute to be
brought, she sang the following words:--

Bright opening day,
Wild flowers so gay,
Tall grasses their thirst that slake,
On the banks of the billowy lake!

What glimmers there so shining
The reedy growth entw