“I am sorry, my friends,” replied she, “to increase your labour; I would rather bring up the water-vessels myself:  but this fountain must indeed be closed.  Believe me when I say that it must be done, and that only by doing it we can avoid a greater evil.”

The domestics were all rejoiced to gratify their gentle mistress; and making no further inquiry, they seized the enormous stone.  While they were raising it in their hands, and were now on the point of adjusting it over the fountain, Bertalda came running to the place, and cried, with an air of command, that they must stop; that the water she used, so improving to her complexion, was brought from this fountain, and that she would by no means allow it to be closed.

This time, however, Undine, while she showed her usual gentleness, showed more than her usual resolution:  she said it belonged to her, as mistress of the house, to direct the household according to her best judgment; and that she was accountable in this to no one but her lord and husband.

“See, O pray see,” exclaimed the dissatisfied and indignant Bertalda, “how the beautiful water is curling and curving, winding and waving there, as if disturbed at being shut out from the bright sunshine, and from the cheerful view of the human countenance, for whose mirror it was created.”

In truth the water of the fountain was agitated, and foaming and hissing in a surprising manner; it seemed as if there were something within possessing life and will, that was struggling to free itself from confinement.  But Undine only the more earnestly urged the accomplishment of her commands.  This earnestness was scarcely required.  The servants of the castle were as happy in obeying their gentle lady, as in opposing the haughty spirit of Bertalda; and however the latter might scold and threaten, still the stone was in a few minutes lying firm over the opening of the fountain.  Undine leaned thoughtfully over it, and wrote with her beautiful fingers on the flat surface.  She must, however, have had something very sharp and corrosive in her hand, for when she retired, and the domestics went up to examine the stone, they discovered various strange characters upon it, which none of them had seen there before.

When the knight returned home, toward evening, Bertalda received him with tears, and complaints of Undine’s conduct.  He cast a severe glance of reproach at his poor wife, and she looked down in distress; yet she said very calmly: 

“My lord and husband, you never reprove even a bondslave before you hear his defence; how much less, then, your wedded wife!”

“Speak! what moved you to this singular conduct?” said the knight with a gloomy countenance.

“I could wish to tell you when we are entirely alone,” said Undine, with a sigh.

“You can tell me equally well in the presence of Bertalda,” he replied.

“Yes, if you command me,” said Undine; “but do not command me—­pray, pray do not!”