She came with startling tidings. Simon the Black was in the city, and, resorting to a master-stroke of policy, had freed all the poor debtors--and they were a very numerous body in Jerusalem--by persuading them to set fire to the Archeion in Ophel, the building in which were registered all monetary loans contracted by private citizens, such official registration constituting the only legal proof of the transaction. Having thus involved the multitude in an irrevocable act of sedition, Simon had next led them forth to Olivet, where the Zealots of Manahem, returning in triumph from the conquest of Masada, were now engaged, by the torches’ glare, in making a free distribution of arms to all who were willing to fight. With signs of the liveliest agitation, the princess told how it was the intention of the mob on the following morning to storm the two Roman strongholds, and massacre the garrisons by way of retaliation for the butchery wrought by Florus. “Will you not leave the city with me, ere it be too late?” she asked of Crispus in earnest tones. “’Tis not the fashion of Romans to desert their post, however numerous the foe,” returned Crispus. “Your departure will not be desertion, for no one has ordered _you_ to fight. Your station here is a voluntary one.” “I will not leave my fellow-countrymen to their fate! That your people have good cause for insurrection is, alas! but too true. But, for all that, my way is clear. I am a patriot and a Cestius, and it is my duty to keep the Roman eagle supreme in this city, or die in the attempt.” Berenice was silent for a moment; then, laying her hand upon his arm, she said in tender tones: “Let me stay here to help you; you may become wounded, and who is there to nurse you? And if you die, which heaven forbid, I--I will die with you.” Crispus could not but be touched with this expression of sympathy on her part. Forgetting the incident in the synagogue, he felt that he could love her, if she were always like this. And as he had once thought Vashti’s face to be like Berenice’s, so now did he think Berenice’s face like Vashti’s, as he beheld it at this moment transfigured with a beautiful and heroic light. “Princess, this is no place for you,” said he gently. He conducted the reluctant and sorrowful Berenice to her palanquin at the palace gate. As he parted from her some tempting spirit bade him whisper tenderly: “Farewell, _Athenaïs_.” He might not have pronounced that name had he foreseen its effect. Her sweet and lovable expression vanished in a moment, to be replaced by a cold, suspicious look that repelled him as much as the other had attracted. “Why do you call me by that name?” she asked, seeming to shrink from him. “Perhaps I am trying an experiment, princess,” said he, significantly.