It became light and pleasant, and only the disarranged bed with the blanket, which had slipped off to the floor, spoke of the horror, not altogether past.
In his night-clothes, with his beard disheveled by his restless movements, with his angry eyes, the dignitary resembled any other angry old man who suffered with insomnia and shortness of breath.

It was as if the death which people were preparing for him, had made him bare, had torn away from him the magnificence and splendor which had surrounded him--and it was hard to believe that it was he who had so much power, that his body was but an ordinary plain human body that must have perished terribly in the flame and roar of a monstrous explosion.
Without dressing himself and not feeling the cold, he sat down in the first armchair he found, stroking his disheveled beard, and fixed his eyes in deep, calm thoughtfulness upon the unfamiliar plaster figures of the ceiling.
So that was the trouble! That was why he had trembled in fear and had become so agitated! That was why Death seemed to stand in the corner and would not go away, could not go away! "Fools!" he said emphatically, with contempt.
"Fools!" he repeated more loudly, and turned his head slightly toward the door that those to whom he was referring might hear it.

He was referring to those whom he had praised but a moment before, who in the excess of their zeal had told him of the plot against his life.
"Of course," he thought deeply, an easy, convincing idea arising in his mind.

"Now that they have told me, I know, and feel terrified, but if I had not been told, I would not have known anything and would have drunk my coffee calmly.

After that Death would have come--but then, am I so afraid of Death?
Here have I been suffering with kidney trouble, and I must surely die from it some day, and yet I am not afraid--because I do not know anything.