But the dwarf has listened with profound attention to the Undines' prattle, which has so imprudently disclosed the secret of the gold. He climbs from summit to summit, slips, falls back again, becomes infuriated, but soon cries in a terrible voice, "Scoff now, perfidious spirits, you will sport henceforward in obscurity, for I shall tear the miraculous gold from the rock. I will forge the avenging ring, and let these waters hear me: I curse love." And the dwarf plunges and disappears with his luminous prey, pursued by the disconsolate Undines. The entire stream sinks with them and slowly lays bare the summit of a mountain where the gods are sleeping. On the top of the neighboring mountain, which little by little emerges from the morning vapors, appears, gilded by the morning sun, a strange and formidable castle. It is the Walhalla, the magnificent stronghold which the giants have just finished for the gods. Wotan and Fricka, upon awakening, contemplate it with joy and surprise; but the goddess is anxious; the rude laborers will claim their reward. Wotan has imprudently promised them Frya, the sweet divinity of love. The task now being finished, it must be paid for. It is Loge, the genius of fire, who has taken it upon himself to find Frya's ransom; he appears at last, the mocking god; but he has explored earth and heaven in vain. In no place has he discovered that which can surpass the charms of love. One being only has given preference to the dominion of gold, stolen by him from the daughters of the Rhine.