The necessary sale followed upon the disappearance of the Director; and when it was over, people in town began gradually to forget about Hugo Weinschenk. But the Misses Buddenbrook, sitting on Thursday at the family table, declared that they had known the first moment, from the man’s eyes, that he was not straight, that his conscience was bad, and that there would be trouble in the end. Certain considerations, which they wished now they had not regarded, had led them to suppress these painful observations.
Part IX
I
Senator Buddenbrook followed the two gentlemen, old Dr. Grabow and young Dr. Langhals, out of the Frau Consul’s bedchamber into the breakfast-room and closed the door.
“May I ask you to give me a moment, gentlemen?” he said, and led them up the steps, through the corridor, and into the landscape-room, where, on account of the raw, damp weather, the stove was already burning. “You will understand my anxiety,” he said. “Sit down and tell me something reassuring, if possible.”
“Zounds, my dear Senator,” answered Dr. Grabow, leaning back comfortably, his chin in his neckcloth, his hat-brim propped in both hands against his stomach. Dr. Langhals put his top-hat down on the carpet beside him and regarded his hands, which were exceptionally small and covered with hair. He was a heavy dark man with a pointed beard, a pompadour haircut, beautiful eyes, and a vain expression.
“There is positively no reason for serious disquiet at present,” Dr. Grabow went on. “When we take into consideration our honoured patient’s powers of resistance—my word, I think, as an old and tried councillor, I ought to know what that resistance is—it is simply astonishing, for her years, I must say.”
“Yes, precisely: for her years,” said the Senator, uneasily, twisting his moustaches.
“I don’t say,” went on Dr. Grabow, in his gentle voice, “that your dear Mother will be walking out tomorrow. You can tell that by looking at her, of course. There is no denying that the inflammation has taken a disappointing turn in the last twenty-four hours. The chill yesterday afternoon did not please me at all, and today there is actually pain in the side. And some fever—oh, nothing to speak of, but still—In short, my dear Senator, we shall probably have to reckon with the troublesome fact that the lung is slightly affected.”
“Inflammation of the lungs then?” asked the Senator, and looked from one physician to the other.
“Yes—pneumonia,” said Dr. Langhals, with a solemn and correct bow.
“A slight inflammation, however, and confined to the right side,” answered the family physician. “We will do our best to localize it.”
“Then there is ground for serious concern, after all?” The Senator sat quite still and looked the speaker full in the face.
“Concern—oh, we must be concerned to limit the affection. We must ease the cough, and go at the fever energetically. The quinine will see to that. And by the by, my dear Senator, let me warn you against feeling alarm over single symptoms, you know. If the difficulty in breathing increases, or there should be a little delirium in the night, or a good deal of discharge tomorrow—a sort of rusty-looking mucous, with a little blood in it—well, all that is to be expected, entirely regular and normal. Do reassure dear Madame Permaneder on this point too—she is nursing the patient with such devotion.—How is she feeling? I quite forgot to ask how she has been, in the last few days.”
“She is about as usual,” the Senator said. “I have not heard of anything new. She is not taking much thought for her own condition, these days—”
“Of course, of course. And, apropos: your sister needs rest, especially at night, and Mamsell Severin has not time to give her all the rest she needs. What about a nurse, my dear Senator? Why not have one of our good Grey Sisters, in whom you feel such an interest? The Mother Superior would be glad to send you one.”
“You consider it necessary?”
“I am only suggesting it. The sisters are invaluable—their experience and calmness are always so soothing to the patient, especially in an illness like this, where there is a succession of disquieting symptoms. Well—let me repeat, no anxiety, my dear Senator. And we shall see, we shall see. We will have another talk this evening.”
“Positively,” said Dr. Langhals, took his hat and got up, with his colleague. But the Senator had not finished: he had another question, another test to make.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “one word more. My brother Christian is a nervous man. He cannot stand much. Do you advise me to send him word? Should I suggest to him to come home?”
“Your brother Christian is not in town?”
“No, he is in Hamburg—for a short time, on business, I understand.”
Dr. Grabow gave his colleague a glance. Then he laughingly shook the Senator’s hand and said, “Well, we’ll let him attend to his business in peace. No use upsetting him unnecessarily. If any change comes which seems to make it advisable, to quiet the patient, or to raise her spirits—well, there is plenty of time still, plenty of time.”
The gentlemen traversed the pillared hall and stood on the steps awhile, talking about other matters: politics, and the agitations and changes due to the war just then ended.
“Well, good times will be coming now, eh, Herr Senator? Money in the country, and fresh confidence everywhere.”
And the Senator partially agreed with him. He said that the grain trade with Russia had been greatly stimulated since the outbreak of war, and
