The garret was possessed with the gloomy announcement of a drizzling new day when Noll opened the door and entered. Betty, crouching on her bed, held out her arms to him: “Noll,” she began, tears in her eyes---- Noll went to her, caressed her, and sat himself down on the side of the bed. He yawned. He was very tired. “Betty,” said he, heedless of the eagerness in her voice, deaf to the strange thrill in her being, his eyes on his own amusements, his thoughts on his own fatigue; “Betty, I am dog-weary--I have to be off again at six--I must snatch a couple of hours sleep.” He flung into an armchair, dressed as he was. “You might give me a rouse at six----” He yawned again and was silent. “Noll,” she said shyly--“I have felt so strange--whilst--whilst you were away--during the night. And just as the dawn was breaking I----” Noll moved uneasily in his chair: “Ah, yes, Betty, dear heart,” said he drowsily, a suspicion of compunction stirring within his gadding conscience that this girl had been too much alone of late. He misunderstood her delicacy. His conceit jumped to the uneasy conclusion that she was blaming him. “You see, the whole of the last few days our fellows have been toiling day and night at our car for the procession at the Bal des Quatz Arts; but it--is--finished. To-day has come at last--to-day we hold--the--orgy--of youth--to-night is the Bal des Quatz Arts.... After to-night, sweetheart, I shall be able to get home earlier.... I am afraid--I haven’t--done--my duty by you--of late....” He roused for a moment. “By George, our studio is going to win the laurels at the students’ ball this evening--we have been at it all night, putting the last touches to our great plaster statue of the Goddess of War--a huge copy of Gérôme’s Bellona--looks terrific--one of our fellows has done a splendid frieze for the gilt chariot that is to bear her majesty--we finished her toilette--at daybreak. And now I feel like a lady’s-maid to a woman of fashion, waiting up all night to--take off the garments--of--victory.” He yawned. His eyes closed: “But--oh--ah--I must stop cackling indifferent prose.... The massier of our studio wants us all back at six.... We have to get Bellona to the Moulin Rouge for this evening’s show, and she has a heavy tread--as becomes the goddess of War. We are going to--drag her--across Paris with--ropes--up to Montmartre.... It will be--a rollicking--march.... Our lot at Gérôme’s studio--always begin early--and--stay--late.” He yawned heavily “Hi-yo-ho!... Yes--it will be a--rollicking----” He relapsed into a drowse. He started up for a moment: “Half a hundred French students make--an--ex’lent--flea--in th’ ear--of--Paris.... An--ex’lent--flea----” Silence took possession of the room. “Noll----” Noll roused: “Oh, yes--let me see--where were we?” He laughed embarrassedly: