Evening had scarcely arrived, when the company returned to their
homes; not dismissed by the impatience of the bridegroom, as wedding
parties are sometimes broken up, but constrained solely by heavy
sadness and forebodings of evil. Bertalda retired with her maidens,
and the knight with his attendants, to undress, but there was no gay
laughing company of bridesmaids and bridesmen at this mournful
festival.

Bertalda wished to awaken more cheerful thoughts; she ordered her
maidens to spread before her a brilliant set of jewels, a present
from Huldbrand, together with rich apparel and veils, that she might
select from among them the brightest and most beautiful for her dress
in the morning. The attendants rejoiced at this opportunity of
pouring forth good wishes and promises of happiness to their young
mistress, and failed not to extol the beauty of the bride with the
most glowing eloquence. This went on for a long time, until Bertalda
at last, looking in a mirror, said with a sigh--

"Ah, but do you not see plainly how freckled I am growing? Look here
on the side of my neck."

They looked at the place, and found the freckles, indeed, as their
fair mistress had said; but they called them mere beauty spots, the
faintest touches of the sun, such as would only heighten the
whiteness of her delicate complexion. Bertalda shook her head, and
still viewed them as a blemish. "And I could remove them," she said
at last, sighing. "But the castle fountain is covered, from which I
formerly used to have that precious water, so purifying to the skin.
Oh, had I this evening only a single flask of it!"