“Why?” asked Alexandra.
“I don’t know; I always feel like that when I look at the beauties of nature for the first time; but then, I was ill at that time, of course!”
“Oh, but I should like to see it!” said Adelaida; “and I don’t know when we shall ever go abroad. I’ve been two years looking out for a good subject for a picture. I’ve done all I know. ‘The North and South I know by heart,’ as our poet observes. Do help me to a subject, prince.”
“Oh, but I know nothing about painting. It seems to me one only has to look, and paint what one sees.”
“But I don’t know how to see!”
“Nonsense, what rubbish you talk!” the mother struck in. “Not know how to see! Open your eyes and look! If you can’t see here, you won’t see abroad either. Tell us what you saw yourself, prince!”
“Yes, that’s better,” said Adelaida; “the prince learned to see abroad.”
“Oh, I hardly know! You see, I only went to restore my health. I don’t know whether I learned to see, exactly. I was very happy, however, nearly all the time.”
“Happy! you can be happy?” cried Aglaya. “Then how can you say you did not learn to see? I should think you could teach us to see!”
“Oh! do teach us,” laughed Adelaida.