BUDDENBROOKS
sister do get a bit more, and the house has been bought out of your share?”
“Father, surely you can understand how painful my position is! I ought to advise you in the interest of family harmony—but . . .” The Consul sighed. Johann Buddenbrook peered at him, in the dim light, to see what his expression was. One of the two candles had gone out of itself; the other was flickering. Every now and then a tall, smiling white figure seemed to step momentarily out of the tapestry and then back again.
“Father,” said the Consul softly. “This affair with Gotthold depresses me.”
“What’s all this sentimentality, Jean? How does it depress you?”
“We were all so happy here to-day, Father; we had a glorious celebration, and we felt proud and glad of what we have accomplished, and of having raised the family and firm to a position of honour and respect. . . . But this bitter feud with my own brother, with your eldest son, is like a hidden crack in the building we have erected. A family should be united, Father. It must keep together. ‘A house divided against itself will fall.’ ”
“There you are with your milk-and-water stuff, Jean! All I say is, he’s an insolent young puppy.”
A pause ensued. The last candle burned lower and lower.
“What are you doing, Jean?” asked Johann Buddenbrook. “I can’t see you.”
The Consul said shortly, “I’m calculating.” He was standing erect, and the expression in his eyes had changed. They had looked dreamy all the evening; but now they stared into the candle-flame with a cold sharp gaze. “Either you give thirty-three thousand, three hundred and thirty-three marks to Gotthold, and fifteen thousand to the family in Frankfort—that makes forty-eight thousand, three hundred and thirty-five in all—or, you give nothing to Gotthold, and twenty-five thousand to the family in Frankfort. That means a gain of twenty-
