dark night that he saw, shrouding everything without. So he collected himself and was about to begin his tale, when the fisherman broke in. “Sir Knight,” quoth he, “this is no fit hour for such discourse as this.” Whereupon Undine sprang angrily from her stool, and standing straight before the old man with her little hands pressed to her sides, “Father,” cried she, “he is not to tell his story? He shall not? But I will have it! It is my will! He shall, in spite of you!” And she stamped her foot on the floor.
Now, albeit that she was violent enough, she wore through all her fury so comic a grace that Huldbrand could but the more eagerly watch her anger than at first he did her gentleness. But far other did it fare with the fisherman. His wrath, which hitherto he had suppressed, burst forth in open flame, and with harsh words he reproved Undine’s disobedience and unmannerly behaviour towards the stranger, his good old wife joining with him heartily. But Undine cared not a jot. “If ye choose to scold,” cried she, “and will not do what I want, ye may sleep alone in your smoky old hut!” And like an arrow she was at the door and out into the dark night.
