“Only those genealogies are deemed authentic that are inscribed on the public rolls. _My_ name is missing from them.” “How is that?” “Nay, I cannot tell, but such is the case. I discovered it but a few days ago. I was in the Archeion--the House of the Rolls, we call it--with its keeper Johanan ben Zacchai, who has always regarded me with fatherly affection. Moved by curiosity, I asked to be allowed to see my own name in the public genealogical records. ‘Well, to please you, my daughter,’ said he. So he brought out the rolls of papyrus and parchment; and after a long time, and much searching, he found the names of my father Hyrcanus, and my mother Miriam, but _my_ name he could not find, though my little brother Arad’s is recorded. So you see----” The sound of approaching footsteps checked her utterance. On turning, Crispus and Vashti saw at a little distance a stately and beautiful figure that for a moment stopped short, apparently in surprise, at seeing the pair in such friendly converse. It was the Princess Berenice. Some instinct told Crispus that she was looking for him, and he beheld her with a sort of self-reproach. In spite of her half-jesting reminder that he should not, as at Antioch, neglect her, he had repeated his indifference; his only dealing with her had been to depose her from the proud position of being the first beauty of the land. What wonder, then, if she should feel somewhat hurt? “I will leave you now,” murmured Vashti, making as if to rise. “Nay, do not go,” said Crispus, venturing, all unconsciously, to lay a detaining hand upon her wrist. Crispus wondered at her heightened color, and at the new light that came into her eyes. Was she pleased to think that he would not dismiss her, even in favor of a princess? He withdrew his hand, but not before Berenice had noticed the action. Observant woman is doubly observant at such times. “Will the Queen of Beauty,” said the princess with a slightly disdainful air, “permit me to share the conversation of the noble Crispus?” And, without waiting for a reply, she seated herself, as she spoke, at the left side of Crispus, Vashti being at his right. “What is passing in the palace?” asked Crispus. “The wit of Florus,” replied Berenice. “The wine hath got into his head. Like Nero, he thinks he can sing. But I was very good, and kept a grave face the while; nay, I even asked him to sing again, which pleased him hugely. I cannot say the same of his hearers.” She laughed so pleasantly that Crispus was fain to laugh too.