Up the narrow way of the road that is called Buonaparte the resounding clamour went, until the great gates of the schools of the Beaux Arts opened and swallowed the gay procession that trooped into its court--the gates swung together with a loud clang, and the orgy spent itself within the staid precincts of the old courtyard that is set about on its several sides with classic columns and the faded stateliness of ancient palaces. Noll halted outside the gates, saw them shut, and took his way homewards to his high garret; and, as he went, his dress of a Roman soldier, that had been so appropriate a part of the night’s frolic, suddenly became incongruous and ridiculous; and the cold clear morning’s light brought a shrewd suspicion that of late he had been at best somewhat of a tomfool. He mounted the steps to his garret weary of all this riot--and there came upon him a sense of loneliness. Ay, Noll, to what end has been all this frantic skipping? Ah, youth! that ever plays the gadabout amidst the strenuous tomfooleries, with eager chasing of the wild-goose, whilst through lavish wanton fingers slip unrealized the essential things of life! Even so did the young Adam, as gossips say, toss away the title-deeds of Paradise that he might but take a bite at an untried apple. CHAPTER LXVII _Wherein Youth finds the Cap and Bells to be but a Bizarre Crown_ As Noll shut himself in, he felt a little injured that Betty was not home to greet him. He saw her letter lying on the pillow. He flung himself upon his bed, drew a rug over him, and slept until nightfall.... When he awoke, heavy and stiff and chill and bewildered, he put out his feet into the darkness, and sat for awhile on the side of the bed, whilst his drowsy brain cleared from the fog of sleep. He felt somewhat ridiculous in the dress of a Roman soldier. He shivered. He felt miserable--he was overwhelmed with a sense of loneliness. He wondered where Betty was--and what doing. “Betty!” he called. No answering sound. There was a ghostly stillness. He vaguely remembered seeing a letter lying on the bed when he had lain down to sleep. He put out his hand, and his fingers struck the envelope. He opened the letter languidly and tried to read, but the light was gone. He arose stiffly and took it to the window, but the darkness wholly baffled him. He searched about for a light, and only found a box of matches with difficulty. When he had struck the match he realized that the girl’s care for him was lacking--that it had never before been lacking--there was no candle or lamp set out for him. He felt sorry for himself, neglected, aggrieved....