Among a crowd of wine-bearing slaves that now entered the hall Crispus distinguished the form of Vashti. Quickly the slaves spread themselves to right and left, each going to his appointed place. Of the thousand persons in the banquet-hall Crispus saw but one only--the fair girl that was moving with a light, graceful step towards the chief triclinium. Vashti, but how different from her appearance when last seen by him! The disfigurement wrought by the famine had vanished; she was her own sweet self once more. The charming grace and beauty of her figure were set off by a clinging robe of pure white silk, richly embroidered with gold, and girt at the waist with a broad, silver-sparkling zone. A necklace of pearls encircled her fair throat, and a wreath of violets rested upon her golden ringlets. She was the living picture of beauty; from the crown of her head to her dainty, gold-embroidered sandals there was not a flaw to mar her radiant loveliness. The eyes of Josephus’ mother glistened with pleasure at the success of the toilet for which she was responsible, the good dame having resolved that Vashti should appear at her fairest before the guests. As Vashti caught Crispus’ look she gave him a smile that sent the blood coursing like liquid fire through his veins; it was a smile that showed she had no fear; a smile that seemed to say she knew that he could and would save her. Was she aware of his intentions? he wondered, or was she relying upon the aid of Josephus? Berenice, with a sudden uneasiness at her heart, began all too late to wish that she had kept her slave from appearing at this banquet, for Vashti’s beauty drew murmurs of admiration from the men, if not from the women. “Ye gods! who is this?” said Tiberius Alexander. “I did not know, princess, that you had invited Venus to be a guest.” “’Tis only one of my slaves,” replied Berenice, outwardly calm, inwardly thrilling with jealousy. “A slave!” said Alexander, with the light of amatory desire leaping into his eyes. “I’ll give you ten thousand aurei for her--fifteen thousand,” he added, breathlessly. “I would not take a hundred myriads,” replied Berenice, coldly. “She is not for sale.” At this moment the murmur of tongues ceased throughout the hall. The guests, catching sight of Berenice’s dark face, became suddenly silent, desirous of discovering what was amiss. The princess rose to her feet, and angrily faced the slave who was disobeying her on two points--she was wearing a costume different from that enjoined her, and she lacked the flagon of wine that it was her duty to bear. “By whose leave do you wear that dress?” “By my own,” replied Vashti, with a sweet smile that maddened the other. “Why should I consult _you_, princess, as to what manner of raiment I must wear?”