He sank back on his pillows, shutting his eyes, wearily. But the noise below fretted his ears, and the baffling bursts of laughter and applause kept his mind going, seeking the cause, restless, inquisitive. Noll drew a chair beside his bed, he offered to come and look after him; but André patted his hand, put his offer aside, laughed pathetically, said he would soon be all right--they should see--they would very soon again have Proud as kings and loud as carters, Live they who live on the Hill of Martyrs. The sound of a song being sung below brought a questioning frown to the sick man’s eyes again. Who was it playing? What was the song? He did not recognise it! Noll asked if he might not send them all away--he would stop the noise. “No, no,” said André. “Let them sing their songs--it was Guitreau who had found a publisher--he had himself discovered Guitreau--it would be boorish to spoil his evening--no, no--let them sing their songs. We have only once to live----” There was loud laughter.... They had sat awhile in silence, when Noll asked if they could do nothing. No; he wanted for nothing. The waiters were good souls. Everyone had been kind. No.... He thought he would now sleep. He embraced them, and they left the room--crept from it silently, some strange instinct and dread dictating their going a-tiptoe. And as Noll turned to close the door, the wan-faced man in the gloom of the ill-lit room ran his hand wearily over his brow and flung his arm restlessly upon the coverlet. CHAPTER LXII _Wherein a Comely Young Woman waits at a Window all Night, watching for Sir Tom Fool--listening for his Step_ The bleak night without was cold as God’s contempt. The March wind shrieked shrilly about the court, swung up out of the resounding blackness, tugged at the shutters of windows, rattled at all loose things ill-naturedly, smote the walls in a huff, and tossed insolently out of the court again, shrilly screaming--leaving a gloomy sullen lull, full of dry-throated questionings. A bride of a year--and anxious self-questionings! Betty sat at the window, uneasy, watchful, ashamed. All evening had she come and gone, pacing out disturbing thoughts. Many nights had she thus watched, humiliated, alone--watching for Noll, listening for his footfall. Once the city clocks had struck midnight, the passing of each wheeled conveyance became a goad to her anxious hearing--a stab to her anxiety--an added sneer at the loss of her hold upon her lover’s affections--a muffled insult to her attractiveness.