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The Graefin had the presence of mind to laugh in the right key. Three weeks later the Graefin bore down upon the Baroness Sophie in a foreign bookseller's shop in the Graben, where she was, possibly, buying books of devotion, though it was the wrong counter for them. "I've just left the dear children at the Rodenstahls'," was the Graefin's greeting.
The Graefin's two elder sons had made deplorable marriages. It was, observed Clovis, a family habit. The youngest boy, Wratislav, who was the black sheep of a rather greyish family, had as yet made no marriage at all. "There is certainly this much to be said for viciousness," said the Graefin, "it keeps boys out of mischief."
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