When dawn approached, the bedbugs lost their power, reflected Gurdweill. Besides, he could sleep as long as he liked in the morning, until ten or even twelve. But the bench on which he was sitting was damp with dew, and after a few minutes he stood up and continued on his way. The clock on the wall of the Hotel Metropol said ten to one. By the time he reached home and got into bed it would be two o’clock. And by then the danger would not be so bad! Nevertheless, he would have to speak to the old lady tomorrow about the dirt. Now that the dog days were beginning, life would be unbearable unless she kept the place clean. The trouble was that she kept insisting there wasn’t ‘the ghost of a bedbug’ in the house — and how could he prove the contrary? A profound disgust seized hold of him at the thought of the broken couch, which seemed to him at this moment to be entirely composed of the loathsome vermin. No, tomorrow she would have to clean the couch!

On the bridge he glanced down at the black water, and remembered someone telling him that a dip in cold water before going to bed was a good cure for bedbugs. He would do it! Then he thought about how frightening the river was at night, and at the same time how seductive, almost compelling you to throw yourself into it … This thought seemed to him silly, and he dismissed it as due to the weariness of which he was now clearly aware. All of a sudden, by some strange mental leap, he found himself recalling Lotte again. And now he was riveted by one external detail: he could not remember if she had been wearing ordinary shoes today, or the new woven sandals she had bought a few weeks before. An open weave like that was very impractical, thought Gurdweill. If you were caught in a sudden shower, they would fill with water in a moment … and it would be even worse at night … If only she had consulted him beforehand, he would never have advised her to buy shoes so full of holes. But the main thing, of course, was her nerves …