"We must have been before acquainted with each other," she often used to say to her, "or else there must be some mysterious connection between us, for it is incredible that any one so perfectly without cause--I mean, without some deep and secret cause--should be so fondly attached to another as I have been to you from the first moment of our meeting." And even Bertalda could not deny that she felt a confiding impulse, an attraction of tenderness toward Undine, much as she deemed this fortunate rival the cause of her bitterest disappointment.

Under the influence of this mutual regard, they found means to persuade, the one her foster-parents, and the other her husband, to defer the day of separation to a period more and more remote; nay, more, they had already begun to talk of a plan for Bertalda's accompanying Undine to Castle Ringstetten, near one of the sources of the Danube.
Once on a fine evening they happened to be talking over their scheme just as they passed the high trees that bordered the public walk.
The young married pair, though it was somewhat late, had called upon Bertalda to invite her to share their enjoyment; and all three proceeded familiarly up and down beneath the dark blue heaven, not seldom interrupted in their converse by the admiration which they could not but bestow upon the magnificent fountain in the middle of the square, and upon the wonderful rush and shooting upward of its waters.

All was sweet and soothing to their minds.

Among the shadows of the trees stole in glimmerings of light from the adjacent houses (sic).

A low murmur as of children at play, and of other persons who were enjoying their walk, floated around them--they were so alone, and yet sharing so much of social happiness in the bright and stirring world, that whatever had appeared rough by day now became smooth of its own accord.