BUDDENBROOKS
other side of the corridor, is another room, a larger one. Here on the right are the kitchen and larder. But let’s go up. I will show you everything.” They went up the stairs, which were covered with a dark red runner. Above, behind a glass partition, was a narrow corridor which led to the dining-room. This had dark red damask wall-paper, a heavy round table upon which the samovar was steaming, a massive sideboard, and chairs of carved nut-wood, with rush seats. Then there was a comfortable sitting-room upholstered in grey, separated by portières from a small salon with a bay-window and furniture in green striped rep. A fourth of this whole storey was occupied by a large hall with three windows.
Then they went into the sleeping-room, on the right of the corridor. It had flowered hangings and solid mahogany beds. Tony passed on to a small door with open-work carving in the opposite wall, and displayed a winding stair leading from the bed-room to the lower floors, the bathroom, and the servants’ quarters.
“It is pretty here. I shall stop here,” said Gerda, and sank with a deep breath into the reclining chair beside one of the beds.
The Consul bent over and kissed her forehead. “Tired? I feel like that too. I should like to tidy up a bit.”
“I’ll look after the tea,” said Tony Grünlich, “and wait for you in the dining-room.”
The tea stood steaming in the Meissenware cups when Thomas entered. “Here I am,” he said. “Gerda would like to rest a little. She has a headache. Afterward we will go to Meng Street. Well, how is everything, my dear Tony—all right? Mother, Erica, Christian? But now,” he went on with his most charming manner, “our warmest thanks—Gerda’s too—for all your trouble, you good soul. How pretty you have made everything! Nothing is missing.—I only need a few palms for my wife’s bay-window; and I must look about for some suitable oil paintings. But tell
