I opened the window and looked down.

"Youre aiming at Mamas roses, count," Oscar was shouting.

"Your Highness must catch the ball. Then it wont harm the roses. Here is comes!" young Brahe shouted back.

Brahe threw it hard, but Oscar caught it, then he threw it back, straight and hard. Brahe threw it again, and this time Oscar missed the ball. It landed among my roses, the big yellow roses that I love so much.

"Mama wont be pleased," said Oscar, and he looked up at my window. When he saw me, he smiled sweetly. "Mama, did you sleep well?" he called.

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