"My friends, you appear dissatisfied and disturbed; and you are
interrupting, with your strife, a festivity I had hoped would bring
joy to you and to me. Ah! I knew nothing of your heartless ways of
thinking; and never shall understand them: I am not to blame for the
mischief this disclosure has done. Believe me, little as you may
imagine this to be the case, it is wholly owing to yourselves. One
word more, therefore, is all I have to add; but this is one that must
be spoken:--I have uttered nothing but truth. Of the certainty of
the fact, I give you the strongest assurance. No other proof can I
or will I produce, but this I will affirm in the presence of God. The
person who gave me this information was the very same who decoyed the
infant Bertalda into the water, and who, after thus taking her from
her parents, placed her on the green grass of the meadow, where he
knew the duke was to pass."

"She is an enchantress!" cried Bertalda; "a witch, that has
intercourse with evil spirits. She acknowledges it herself."

"Never! I deny it!" replied Undine, while a whole heaven of
innocence and truth beamed from her eyes. "I am no witch; look upon
me, and say if I am."

"Then she utters both falsehood and folly," cried Bertalda; "and she
is unable to prove that I am the child of these low people. My noble
parents, I entreat you to take me from this company, and out of this
city, where they do nothing but shame me."

But the aged duke, a man of honourable feeling, remained unmoved; and
his wife remarked: