“What does this mean. – What – does this mean….”

“Well, now, deuce take it, c’est la question, ma très chère demoiselle!”

Madame Buddenbrook was sitting beside her mother-in-law on the sofa, its clean lines accented with white enamel and a golden lion’s head, its cushions upholstered a pale yellow; she first shot a glance at her husband, the consul, who was seated in an armchair beside her, and then came to the rescue of her young daughter, who was perched on her grandfather’s knee near the window.

“Tony!” she said. “I believe that God made me – ”

And little Antonie, a petite eight-year-old in a dress of softly shimmering silk, was thinking hard, her pretty blond head turned slightly toward her grandfather, but her gray-blue eyes directed into the room without seeing anything. She first repeated, “What does this mean,” then slowly said, “I believe that God made me,” and quickly added, her face brightening, “ – and all creatures,” and, suddenly finding the track smooth – she was unstoppable now and her face beamed with happiness – she rattled off the whole article, as prescribed by the catechism, newly revised and published under the auspices of an august and wise senate in this year of our Lord, 1835. Once you were moving, she thought, it felt just like racing down “Jerusalem Hill” on the sled with her brothers in winter: every thought vanished from your mind, and you couldn’t stop it if you wanted to