For, ever since her father had used these words, they had been
ringing in her ears, and to-day especially they pursued her without
ceasing.
The party broke up before night had closed in; not, as usual,
dispersed by the eager impatience of the bridegroom to be alone with
his bride; but dropping off listlessly, as a general gloom spread over
the assembly; Bertalda was followed to her dressing-room by her women
only, and the Knight by his pages. At this gloomy feast, there was no
question of the gay and sportive train of bridesmaids and young men,
who usually attend the wedded pair.
Bertalda tried to call up brighter thoughts; she bade her women
display before her a splendid set of jewels, the gift of Huldbrand,
together with her richest robes and veils, that she might select the
gayest and handsomest dress for the morrow. Her maids seized the
opportunity of wishing their young mistress all manner of joy, nor did
they fail to extol the beauty of the bride to the skies. Bertalda,
however, glanced at herself in the glass, and sighed: "Ah, but look at
the freckles just here, on my throat!" They looked and found it was
indeed so, but called them beauty spots that would only enhance the
fairness of her delicate skin. Bertalda shook her head, and replied,
"Still it is a blemish, and I once might have cured it!" said she with
a deep sigh. "But the fountain in the court is stopped up--that
fountain which used to supply me with precious, beautifying water.
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