“Really!” exclaimed the countess, her gaze fixed sternly upon her second son.

“Really!” exclaimed the countess, her gaze fixed sternly upon her second son. “You marry a seamstress? Preposterous!” Her once radiant blue eyes, now shadowed by the wrinkles of advancing years, bore into him with a mixture of disbelief and disapproval. “You are a second son, with responsibilities to uphold. There is no fortune awaiting you; thus, you must marry wisely. Perhaps a pastor’s daughter, or consider a few years as an officer in the army.”

She paused, allowing her words to sink in, and took a few measured breaths to recover from the shock of such an outrageous suggestion. “No,” she declared firmly, “this will not do, not at all.” With a decisive turn, she seated herself by the tea table. “Come here and have some tea, and let us speak no more of this matter.”