The Princess Helena, too, shone radiantly. Her complexion, the triumph of cosmetics, rivalled the white but ruddy skin of the children who ran beside her and gazed at her beauty. Her light hair was star lit with jewels, and wrought into a high coiffure not unlike a miniature sheaf of wheat with a binder of gold. She reclined upon the cushions in graceful lassitude, and nodded her head at each stride of the carriage-bearers with the dignity of one who felt that she had already made her conquest of the world, and would graciously encourage the coming warriors in making theirs. Yet there was on the face of the Princess a shadow of disappointment as she gave her patronizing recognition to one and another of the élite passing by. She was reserving her graciousness for Glaucon, one of whose ancestral gems shone brilliantly upon her bosom. The announced illness of Berenice left her coquetry this day an open field; for, in spite of her flattery, she had conceived a distrust of the sister of her paramour. There was to her mind a strangely familiar look about Berenice's face, a flitting suggestion of something she had seen and ought to remember, but could not. Helena believed in the transmigration of souls, or sometimes thought she did. Was Berenice's spirit one that had crossed her path in some previous state of existence? She could not determine whether the shadowy reminiscences were real or fanciful; nor, if real, whether they were pleasant or otherwise. She said to herself, "This feeling is foolish," but Berenice's presence always awakened the feeling. So she fell back upon a bit of philosophy she had once heard from a noted rhetorician, "There is an instinctive hostility between some souls, and an instinctive love between other souls, with either of which the intelligent judgment has little to do." But Glaucon did not join the gay throng. Did his sister's illness so concern him? The Princess felt a flash of jealousy mantle her face, and knowing from the frequent lesson learned at her mirror that it did not make her handsome, she toyed with Glaucon's gem until more pleasing thoughts came. Toward midday the crowd of watchers on the hill noted a cloud of dust rising above the road from Bethhoron. It swirled like that raised by a whirlwind. It came rapidly nearer and larger. At length the cry broke from the crowd: "The army comes! Seron! Seron!"