As soon as the door had closed after the old man, Melitta threw herself laughing into the rocking-chair.
"Did I not tell you?" she cried, rocking to and fro, joyous as a child that has had its will; "did I not tell you?"
Oswald had taken a seat opposite to her, at the large round table, on which an open album and drawing materials lay scattered about. His hand was playing with the pencil while he looked at Melitta, lost in thought.
"Are you going to draw my likeness?" asked Melitta.
"I wish I could."
"Why not? There is my album."
"That does not help me. You will have to teach me first how to draw directly with the eye."
"Ah, that is exactly what I always wish I could do. How often, when I am interested in a face, a figure, or a landscape, have I thought: Now you will hit it! and when I try to fix it on the paper, clear as it is before my eye, it is nothing but a caricature."
"I am sure your album will say the contrary. Is it permitted to look at it?"
"Not generally, but you may. In fact, it has no value but for myself; for I find there not only what I have drawn, but also what I have wished to draw. Besides, my album is a kind of diary. I probably commenced this one shortly before my Italian journey."