Again all the tourist could say was her ever ready "My!"
"Would you like to see some of the castle?" the princess asked. "There
is a picture gallery not usually opened to visitors, also some
apartments with frescoes that are worth seeing." Then to the guide, "You
may take them into the west wing." The tourists looked variously,
according to their several dispositions; the little one beamed.
"Oh, that's real kind of Your Highness," she exclaimed, her small gray
person fluttering, more than ever like a mouse. "I must say that's real
kind. I just dote on pictures. Do you like crayons? Well, I like oils
best myself, but there are some who have a taste for crayons. The
photographer's son--out where I live--he is real talented. He did some
beautiful portraits. Folks thought he ought to come over here right away
and study art. But others thought there was just as good art right at
home. Now, what'd you say?"
Her good intention quite won the princess, and her accent warmed her
heart in a way that Nina would have been at a loss to understand.
They had reached the west door, and the Princess sent a gardener around
to the main entrance for the porter to bring his keys. The old man came
quickly enough, fumbling in the pocket of his greatcoat, but he did not
look at all edified at the whim of Her Excellency which allowed a lot of
strangers to track mud through the best rooms of the Castle.
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