Her proud, bright face
softened, her magnificent eyes grew tender and half sad. Gaspar
read on--of the fair and lovely maiden, of the handsome young
knight and his love, of the water sprite, grim old Kuhlehorn, and
the cottage where Undine dwelt, of the knight's marriage, and
then of proud, beautiful Bertha.
The rippling of the lake and the singing of the birds seemed like
an accompaniment to the words, so full of pathos. Then Gaspar
came to Bertha's love for the knight--their journey on the river
to the huge hand rising and snatching the jewel from Undine's
soft fingers, while the knight's love grew cold.
Even the waters of the lake seemed to sob and sigh as Gaspar read
on of sweet, sad Undine and of her unhappy love, of Bertha's
proud triumph, her marriage with the knight, and the last, most
beautiful scene of all--Undine rising from the unsealed fountain
and going to claim her love.
"How exquisite!" said Beatrice, drawing a long, deep breath. "I
did not know there was such a story in the world. That is indeed
a creation of genius. I shall never forget Undine."
Her eyes wandered to the sweet spirituelle face and fair golden
hair of her sister.
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