“Is that all?” cried an alert waiting-maid, laughing as she glided out of the apartment.

“She will not be so foolish,” said Bertalda, well-pleased and surprised, “as to cause the stone cover of the fountain to be taken off this very evening?” That instant they heard the tread of men passing along the court-yard, and could see from the window where the officious maiden was leading them directly up to the fountain, and that they carried levers and other instruments on their shoulders.

“It is certainly my will,” said Bertalda with a smile, “if it does not take them too long.”  And pleased with the thought, that a word from her was now sufficient to accomplish what had formerly been refused with a painful reproof, she looked down upon their operations in the bright moonlit castle-court.

The men raised the enormous stone with an effort; some one of the number indeed would occasionally sigh, when he recollected they were destroying the work of their former beloved mistress.  Their labour, however, was much lighter than they had expected.  It seemed as if some power from within the fountain itself aided them in raising the stone.

“It appears,” said the workmen to one another in astonishment, “as if the confined water had become a springing fountain.”  And the stone rose more and more, and, almost without the assistance of the work-people, rolled slowly down upon the pavement with a hollow sound.  But an appearance from the opening of the fountain filled them with awe, as it rose like a white column of water; at first they imagined it really to be a fountain, until they perceived the rising form to be a pale female, veiled in white.  She wept bitterly, raised her hands above her head, wringing them sadly as with slow and solemn step she moved toward the castle.  The servants shrank back, and fled from the spring, while the bride, pale and motionless with horror, stood with her maidens at the window.  When the figure had now come close beneath their room, it looked up to them sobbing, and Bertalda thought she recognized through the veil the pale features of Undine.  But the mourning form passed on, sad, reluctant, and lingering, as if going to the place of execution.  Bertalda screamed to her maids to call the knight; not one of them dared to stir from her place; and even the bride herself became again mute, as if trembling at the sound of her own voice.

While they continued standing at the window, motionless as statues, the mysterious wanderer had entered the castle, ascended the well-known stairs, and traversed the well-known halls in silent tears.  Alas, how different had she once passed through these rooms!

The knight had in the meantime dismissed his attendants.  Half-undressed and in deep dejection, he was standing before a large mirror, a wax taper burned dimly beside him.  At this moment some one tapped at his door very, very softly.  Undine had formerly tapped in this way, when she was playing some of her endearing wiles.