"Yes, but ... it appears that he's absolutely mad now," said Gerrit.
He felt so seedy and heavy-witted that he could hardly speak: his swollen tongue lolled between his teeth. However, he told Paul about Dorine's visit:
"We must go on to Ernst, Paul, and see how much there is in it."
"Ye-es," he drawled. "But I must dress myself first. You see, the curious thing about this world is that, whatever happens, we have first to dress ourselves...."
"Oh, really!" said Paul, amiably. "Well, that was lucky."
There was a note of sarcasm in his tone which escaped Gerrit, in his dull condition.
Paul, stretching himself, decided to get up. And for a moment he remained standing in front of Gerrit, in his pink pyjamas:
"Do you think Ernst is really mad?" he asked.
"Perhaps it's not so bad as that," Gerrit ventured.
"Oh, I say!" said Gerrit, in an offended voice.
"No, not you," said Paul, genially. "Not you or I. But everybody else has a tile loose. I'm going to have my bath."
Paul disappeared in his little bathroom; and Gerrit, who was suffocating, flung open the windows, so that the bedroom suddenly became filled with the patter of the summer rain. And Gerrit looked around him. He had hardly ever been here, at Paul's; and he was now struck by the exquisite tidiness of the rooms. Paul had a bedroom, a sitting-room and a dressing-room in which he had installed his tub.
"What a tidy beggar he is!" thought Gerrit and looked around him.
The bedroom was small and contained nothing but a brass bedstead, a walnut looking-glass wardrobe, a walnut table and two chairs. There was not a single object lying about. The pillows on the bed showed just the faintest impress of Paul's head; the bed-clothes he had thrown well back, when he got up, very neatly, as though to avoid creasing them.
Gerrit heard the ripple of water in the dressing-room. It was as if Paul were squeezing out the sponge with exquisite precaution, so as not to splash a single drop outside his tub. The bath lasted a long time. Then all was silence.
"Can't you hurry a bit?" cried Gerrit, impatiently.
"All right," Paul called back, in placid tones.
"What are you up to? I don't hear you moving."
"My dear fellow, can't you get on a bit faster? Or shall I go on?"