The lord of Ringstetten would certainly have been more gratified, had
the events of this day been different; but even such as they now
were, he could by no means look upon them as unwelcome, since his
lovely wife had shown herself so full of goodness, sweetness, and
kindliness.

"If I have given her a soul," he could not help saying to himself,
"I have assuredly given her a better one than my own;" and now he
only thought of soothing and comforting his weeping wife, and of
removing her even so early as the morrow from a place which, after
this cross accident, could not fail to be distasteful to her. Yet it
is certain that the opinion of the public concerning her was not
changed. As something extraordinary had long before been expected of
her, the mysterious discovery of Bertalda's parentage had occasioned
little or no surprise; and every one who became acquainted with
Bertalda's story, and with the violence of her behaviour on that
occasion, was only disgusted and set against her. Of this state of
things, however, the knight and his lady were as yet ignorant;
besides, whether the public condemned Bertalda or herself, the one
view of the affair would have been as distressing to Undine as the
other; and thus they came to the conclusion that the wisest course
they could take, was to leave behind them the walls of the old city
with all the speed in their power.

With the earliest beams of morning, a brilliant carriage for Undine
drove up to the door of the inn; the horses of Huldbrand and his
attendants stood near, stamping the pavement, impatient to proceed.
The knight was leading his beautiful wife from the door, when a
fisher-girl came up and met them in the way.