At the bottom of his heart he dreaded passing other nights similar to the one he had just gone through.
After splashing some water in his face, he ran the comb through his hair, and this bit of toilet while refreshing his head, drove away the final vestiges of terror.

He now reasoned freely, and experienced no other inconvenience from his restless night, than great fatigue in all his limbs.
"I am not a poltroon though," he said to himself as he finished dressing.

"I don't care a fig about Camille.

It's absurd to think that this poor devil is under my bed.

I shall, perhaps, have the same idea, now, every night.