To Metilius’ lament that, owing to the lack of the requisite missiles, the balistæ and other machines of like character would have to remain idle, Crispus laughingly replied: “If it comes to that, we can discharge these statues upon the heads of the mob.” He was standing at the time in a magnificent hall decorated with sculpture, and, happening to cast a casual eye over the marble masterpieces around him, was so much attracted by one of them that he walked up to it and examined it with an attention that set Metilius wondering. The statue represented a beautiful maiden clothed to the feet in a graceful stole. Upon the pedestal was sculptured the one word, _Pythodoris_. “Pythodoris?” murmured Crispus. “Were not that name graven here I should have called it Vashti.” For indeed, the statue, both in face and figure, was so like the Hebrew maiden that anyone acquainted with her might very well have supposed that it was intended for no other person. “Pythodoris?” said Crispus reflectively. “The name is new to me. Who is she, or perhaps I ought to say, who was she?” Metilius confessed himself unable to satisfy the curiosity of Crispus. He, too, had never heard the name. “This much I know about the statue,” remarked he; “that it is a recent addition to this gallery, and was, I believe, a gift of King Polemo.” The introduction of the Pontic king’s name added not a little to Crispus’ perplexity. “The lady evidently is, or was, a queen,” observed Metilius, pointing to the Oriental diadem upon the head of the figure. Surveying the statue more closely, Crispus saw engraved upon the sandal in minute letters, ΛΑΣΟΣ ΕΠΟΙΕΙ. “‘The workmanship of Lasus,’” said he, reading the name of a sculptor well known at the beginning of the first century. “’Tis fifty years ago since he died, so we may conclude that this is the image of a queen no longer living. How to account for her resemblance to Vashti? But,” he added suddenly, cutting the matter short, “we do wrong to stand musing here, when there are graver matters to attend to.” Herein Crispus spoke truly. The seditiously-disposed among the Jews had noted with secret joy that Florus had left the city all but denuded of troops. What could the two slender garrisons of three hundred each do against the whole city? To neglect such a golden opportunity for the recovery of freedom was a contravening of the will of Elohim, who must surely have brought about this arrangement for the good of the holy seed. Day by day affairs grew more threatening; in the temple-courts and in the synagogues, fiery Zealots from the mountains, and wild-eyed prophets from the desert, declared to the credulous multitude that all the signs of the times pointed to the near advent of the long-promised Messiah, when the Jewish nation should not only be free, but should reign supreme over all the children of the earth from the rising of the sun to the setting thereof.