Erica Weinschenk was the only person present in the bloom of youth; she was much younger than her husband, whose cropped, greying head stood out against the idyllic landscape behind him. When her eyes--the light-blue eyes of Herr Grünlich--rested upon him, you could see how her full bosom rose and fell without a sound, and how she was beset with anxious, bewildered thoughts about usance and book-keeping, witnesses, prosecuting attorneys, defence, and judges. Thoughts like these, un-Christmaslike though they were, troubled everybody in the room. They all felt uncanny at the presence in their midst of a member of the family who was actually accused of an offence against the law, the civic weal, and business probity, and who would probably be visited by shame and imprisonment. Here was a Christmas family party at the Buddenbrooks’--with an accused man in the circle! Frau Permaneder’s dignity became majestic, and the smile of the Misses Buddenbrook more and more pointed. And what of the children, the scant posterity upon whom rested the family hopes? Were they conscious too of the slightly uncanny atmosphere? The state of mind of the little Elisabeth could not be fathomed. She sat on her bonne’s lap in a frock trimmed by Frau Permaneder with satin bows, folded her small hands into fists, sucked her tongue, and stared straight ahead of her. Now and then she would utter a brief sound, like a grunt, and the nurse would rock her a little on her arm. But Hanno sat still on his footstool at his mother’s knee and stared up, like her, into the chandelier. Christian was missing--where was he? At the last minute they noticed his absence. The Frau Consul’s characteristic gesture, from the corner of her mouth up to her temple, as though putting back a refractory hair, became frequent and feverish. She gave an order to Mamsell Severin, and the spinster went out through the hall, past the choir-boys and the “poor” and down the corridor to Christian’s room, where she knocked on the door. Christian appeared straightway; he limped casually into the landscape-room, rubbing his bald brow. “Good gracious, children,” he said, “I nearly forgot the party!” “You nearly forgot--” his mother repeated, and stiffened. “Yes, I really forgot it was Christmas. I was reading a book of travel, about South America.--Dear me, I’ve seen such a lot of Christmases!” he added, and was about to launch out upon a description of a Christmas in a fifth-rate variety theatre in London--when all at once the church-like hush of the room began to work upon him, and he moved on tip-toe to his place, wrinkling up his nose.