Brunhild sat at the feast that evening by Gunther’s side, pale and cold as marble, while Chriemhild sat smiling and whispering between her mother and her lover.
“King of Burgundy,” said Brunhild, at last, “I cannot understand why you give your sister in marriage to one of your vassals. She ought to be the wife of a great king.”
“Say not so,” answered Gunther; “Siegfried is as much a king as I am. He is king of the Nibelungs, and, after the death of his father Sigmund, the whole Netherlands will belong to him.”
“It is a strange story,” she said; “he told me himself that he was your man.”
“I will explain it all to you another time,” replied Gunther; “we’ll say no more about it just now.”
The double wedding took place next day. When the ceremony was over, the old queen showed her daughter-in-law all her possessions, and gave up to her all authority in the house.
“Ah, mother Ute,” said the young wife, “the Burgundians are rich in wealth and great in power; but they are poor in wisdom and weak in action, otherwise King Gunther never would have come to Isenland.”
Without waiting for an answer, she turned and left the room.
The feast was at an end, twilight had long fallen, and the guests all sought their beds. Gunther and his queen went to their private apartments. When he would have followed her into her room, she barred the way, saying,—
“This is no place for you; you can find a more fitting room elsewhere in the palace. If I permitted you to enter, I should lose my great strength.”