But the girl burst out: “Oh, no, Ma’am Grünlich—if that’s all it was!—It’s the Master—I were bringing him his boots, and there he sits and can’t speak, on his chair, and I says to myself, there’s something wrong there; the Herr Consul—”
“Get Grabow,” cried Thomas and ran out of the room.
“My God—oh, my God!” cried the Frau Consul, putting her hands to her face and hurrying out.
“Quick, get a wagon and fetch Grabow,” Tony repeated breathlessly.
Everybody flew downstairs and through the breakfast-room into the bedroom.
But Johann Buddenbrook was already dead.
PART FIVE
CHAPTER I
“Good evening, Justus,” said the Frau Consul. “How are you? Sit down.”
Consul Kröger embraced her tenderly and shook hands with his elder niece, who was also present in the dining-room. He was now about fifty-five years old, and wore a heavy round whisker as well as his moustache, leaving his chin free. It was quite grey. His scanty hair was carefully combed over the broad pink expanse of his skull. The sleeve of his elegant frock-coat had a broad mourning band.