Orion’s agitation rose to its highest pitch.  He felt that the blood had fled from his cheeks, and his thoughts were in utter confusion.  The council, the accused, his enemy Paula—­everything in the room lay before him shrouded in a whirl of green mist.  All he saw seemed to be tinted with light emerald green.  The hair, the faces, the dresses of those present gleamed and floated in a greenish light; and not till Paula went up to the chest with a firm, haughty step, drew out a small key, gave it to the treasurer, and answered his speech with three words:  “Open the box!”—­uttering them with cold condescension as though even this were too much—­not till then did he see clearly once more:  her bright brown hair, the fire of her blue eyes, the rose and white of her complexion, the light dress which draped her fine figure in noble folds, and her triumphant smile.  How beautiful, how desirable was this woman!  A few minutes and she would be worsted in this contest; but the triumph had cost him not only herself, but all that was good and pure in his soul, and worthy of his forefathers.  An inward voice cried it out to him, but he drowned it in the shout of “Onwards,” like a chariot-driver.  Yes—­on; still on towards the goal; away over ruins and stones, through blood and dust, till she bowed her proud neck, crushed and beaten, and sued for mercy.

The lid of the trunk flew open.  Paula stooped, lifted the necklace, held it out to the judges, pulling it straight by the two ends....  Ah! what a terrible, heartrending cry of despair!  Orion even, never, never wished to hear the like again.  Then she flung the jewel on the table, exclaiming:  “Shameful, shameful! atrocious!” she tottered backwards and clung to her faithful Betta; for her knees were giving way, and she felt herself in danger of sinking to the ground.

Orion sprang forward to support her, but she thrust him aside, with a glance so full of anguish, rage and intense contempt that he stood motionless, and clasped his hand over his heart.—­And this deed, which was to work such misery for two human beings, he had smiled in doing!  This practical joke which concealed a death-warrant—­to what fearful issues might it not lead?

Paula had sunk speechless on to a seat, and he stood staring in silence, till a burst of laughter broke from the assembly and old Psamtik, the captain of the guard, who had long been a member of the council of justice, exclaimed: 

“By my soul, a splendid stone!  There is the heathen god Eros with his winged sweetheart Psyche smiling in his face.  Did you never read that pretty story by Apuleius—­’The Golden Ass’ it is called?  The passage is in that.  Holy Luke! how finely it is carved.  The lady has taken out the wrong necklace.  Look, Gamaliel, where could your green pigeon’s egg have found a place in that thing?” and he pointed to the gem.

“Nowhere,” said the Jew.  “The noble lady. . .”  But Orion roughly bid the witness to be silent, and Nilus, taking up the engraved gem, examined it closely.  Then he—­he the grave, just man, on whose support Paula had confidently reckoned—­went up to her and with a regretful shrug asked her whether the other necklace with the setting of which she had spoken was in the trunk.