The Princess Berenice, with her raven hair, dusky eyes, and majestic bearing, seemed like the incarnation of dark and starry night; the other, with her soft violet eyes, tresses like sunbeams, and gentle mien, was like fair Aurora sweetly stealing upon the eastern sky. “If there were but two prizes!” murmured the unhappy Crispus. “Why does he hesitate?” growled Florus. “Is it not plain to be seen that Berenice is the fairer?” That girdle had cost him thirty thousand sesterces, and he did not want to see it bestowed upon a person for whom he had not intended it. Berenice met the scrutiny of her judge with a proud glance, betokening a confidence that Crispus, who loved modesty, did not like to see; on the other hand, Vashti ventured but once to raise her eyes with a sweet, timid, wondering air that moved him strangely. That glance decided the event! “Lady,” said he, “what is your name?” “Vashti, daughter of Hyrcanus,” was the reply, delivered in a low, trembling voice. “Then Vashti, daughter of Hyrcanus, as the fairest of all present, receive this golden zone.” Vashti was but human; it was a sweet little triumph for her. There leaped into her eyes a sudden look of pleasure, a look that was succeeded by one almost akin to fear as she glanced at the humiliated princess, whose beauty, long supreme in Judæa, was now publicly relegated to a second place. Half pleased, half frightened, scarcely knowing what she was doing, Vashti rose to her feet, an act that gave Crispus the opportunity of girding her waist with the zone, and securing it with the clasp. The conferring of the prize upon a Jewess occasioned dissatisfaction among some of the Gentiles; a few, too, of the Jews resented that the Herodian princess should be excluded in favor of an unknown maiden. In both parties there was, however, a majority which, more generous in sentiment, or perhaps thinking that Berenice and her beauty had queened it too long over other women, expressed its approbation by the shout: “All hail to Vashti, the Queen of Beauty!” “Is not the umpire, too, entitled to a reward?” asked Crispus. Vashti started back with a burning blush that made her look the more beautiful. “Nay, I must not forego it.” He was so completely dazzled by her loveliness as to forget for the moment that his unknown bride was watching him. Taking Vashti by both hands he drew her gently towards him, and momentarily pressed her warm, red lips to his own, an act greeted by the company with another round of applause. All very pretty, but what would Polemo think of it? Becoming suddenly alive to the existence of that monarch he looked around for him, and saw him at a distance surveying the scene with a sphinx-like expression that gave no evidence as to what thoughts were passing within him. Crispus took a step in his direction, but the king, as if wishing to avoid him, vanished among the crowd, and was seen no more that night. A little later Rufus addressed a question to Crispus.