Gregor did not wake from his deep, almost unconscious sleep until evening was beginning to fall.
He probably would have woken not much later even if nothing had disturbed him, because he felt rested and had slept enough. Still, he had the impression that the sound of quick footsteps and the careful closing of the door leading to the hall had woken him.
The pale light from the electric streetcars outside fell here and there across the ceiling and the upper parts of the furniture, but down on the floor where Gregor lay, it was dark.
Slowly, still clumsy with the feelers he was only now beginning to appreciate, he made his way toward the door to find out what had happened.
His left side felt like one long, painfully tight scar, and he had to limp awkwardly on his two rows of legs.
One of his small legs had been badly injured during the events of the morning. It was almost a miracle that only one had been hurt. It dragged uselessly behind him.
When he reached the door, Gregor finally realized what had drawn him there.