Adele smiled, but continued in her mood.
“Paul! from above, those mountains are not true to nature, they are not mountains at all.”
“From your point of view, no.”
“From here, the world is all out of drawing, it does not give you a true idea of itself.”
“It certainly doesn’t look very round,” remarked Paul; “it’s rather concave, with the horizon as high up as we are.”
“No, the idea is not true,” continued Adele; “seen from here, one might think our journey had been over a flat country—easy to walk over—but you know it wasn’t.”
Paul laughed. “No, it wasn’t, my saddle tells me so—it was a hard road to travel. But the view! that’s all right; Adele, it is the grandest we have seen. I never expect to see anything finer.”
“It’s too grand for me—it overwhelms.”
“How, Adele?”
“I’m deceived, in so many ways; deceived as to distance and heights, and I can’t tell what I’m looking at. There now—over there, is a large bare place, I suppose, but it looks like a small field; and just the reverse, there is a clump of foliage, it may be a jungle with tigers, although from here it looks so harmless.”