Ah! now they hear the tramp, tramp of a horse. A noble duke is riding
slowly along. He halts, for he sees the little maid. He stoops and
lifts her in his arms, and carries her off to his own castle, and
surrounds her with splendour and with wealth.

And now tears gather in the eyes of the guests. The song is drawing to
a close, and Undine is singing of an unknown shore, where in a little
cottage sit a father and mother, desolate and sad, for they have lost
their little child, and they know not where to find her.

Among all the guests were none who listened to the song more eagerly
than Bertalda's noble foster-parents.

'She has sung the story of Bertalda, the little child we found so long
ago,' they said each to the other. 'It was even thus we found her in
the meadow, among the flowers.'

And Bertalda herself cried out in haste, 'Undine, Undine, you know my
parents, bring them to me, bring them to me, I entreat you!'

Then Undine, with tears that were tears of joy in her eyes, looked at
Bertalda, and said softly, 'They are here, your parents are here, dear
maiden, and when you see them you will rejoice. Well do I know the
tender care they will give to you, for it was even they who were my
own foster-parents.'

At a sign from Undine the old fisherman and his wife now stepped
forward from the corner in which their foster-child had bidden them
wait. It was she, Undine, who had sent for them that they might claim