Richmond dispatch. [volume] (Richmond, Va.) 1884-1903, 1886-02-21


In a Florentine cafe two men, both
Young. both handsome in strikingly dis
similar fashions, are sitting together at
little table over coffee, ices and cigar
cites, listening indolently the while to
the soft strains Of q mandolin played
by an itinerant musician.
The elder Of the ito is glancing down
the column Of paper, when he sud
denly starts from his chair with pas
sionate oath, exclaimipg, "My God!
then he has murdered her at last in
horror.stricken tones.
"yisconti Have you suddenly taken
leave OF your senses?" demands Louis
yansittaft, picking up the paper his
friend had flung aside. IL was the
Voce Nazionale, and he stared first ct
the newspaper and then at Visconti's
face in speechless bewilderment.
"Look there look at the list OF
Deaths" gssped Andrea yisconti, turn
ing away his head.
The two men standing together amid
the tawdry gold and crimson decora-
tons Of the cafe presented a singular
contrast to the curious observer, if any
such had been there to observe. The
broad-shouldered muscular Saxon
American with his clear-cut impassive
face, golden moustache, and frank gray
eyes, looks down wOnderingly on the
passionate Italian, quivering with ex-
citement, his mobile features-beautifdl
as those OF some pictured saint--are
turned to stony horror as he points
to the paper with trembling hand, and
Vansittart reads
Palma, the wife OF Professor Bar
| di. Of heart. disease. At Pearl Bay,
New Zealand"
But, my dear Visconti," he expos
tulated, "because a mans wife dies,
in the name Of common sense and oil
all Justice, what right have you to say
he has murdered her? Poor Palma a"
he added in a softer tone, looking at
| the notice. I'VE shall never see her
again, in this world at least, whatever
they may tell US OF the next. Dear,
beautiful, noble woman! The gods
from time immemorial have taken our
best and fairest."
Visconti had reseated himself, aud,
covering his face with his hands
those slender, faultlesS Italian hands
shuddered conuvlsively, but spoke no
word in reply.
Come, come, Visconti, quit your
self like a man., " cried the artist
kindly, laying his hand on the bowed
head. " Forgive me, old fellow" he
continued "I had no idea the SignOra
Bardi was so much to you"
81 worshipped her like a star set in
heaven above me, she was just so much
to memo more" was the bitter re-
ply. "But that's not all : | have some
real cause for a horror even greater
than my grief, as you shall learn" he
continued, brokenly. And then after
a few minutes silence, during which
he struggled successfully with what
seemed to Vansittart very extraordi-
nary agitation, he resumed " You
don't need to be reminded Of our con-
versation about the Bardis on the night
Of that farewell gathering at your
rooms more than year ago. | had
much reason to think it left us both
with an unpleasant impression, an in
defnable uneasiness, Of which we were
both ashamed, and yet could neither Of
us shake off or get rid Of"
Vansittart nodded silent assent,
and Visconti spoke more rapidly.
"Well. then, that night after re-
turned to my room read note which
| had received during tho evening.
Judge Of my establishment when |
found that its contents not only bore
directly on the subject Of our curious
conversation, but were an absolute
confirmation Of my worst fears"
From whom did you receive the
note ?" interrupted Vansittart.
From Palma Bardi herself" was
the slow, unexpected answer.
"Good heavens calculated the
artist. "Did you answer it?"
"No reply was possible, neither did
she desire any. A sudden impulse-l
can't explain or analyze, but which in
some strange way | comprehended-
must have moved her to coniide in me
at last" lie paused again, and after a
silence, during which Vansittart unused
and smoked, he took from his pocket
book an inner case and extracted from
it the note which Palma Bardi had
given him at Louis Vansittart's door
that memorable spring night. He UNI
folded it with hands that strove to be
steady and laid it on the table before
the artist without speaking.
Vansittart took it up with eager curl
osity, and was some minutes decipher.
ing the faintly-pencilled, hurried lines
which Palma must have written in the
cloak.room at his house that far-oG
April night. The note ran as follows
/" In all the sterile splendor Of this
magnificent, cruel city, my homesick
soul turns to the one compatriot mum
Der among my friends. Not for help.
| am past that but merely to bid you
not grieve for me. You have watched
me and discovered what sought to hide
from all the world. Do not blame
him. lie loved me-once-I think,
but this mad passion for empirical
knowledge in place of true scientific
research has ruined all. lie sacrifices
himself, his own soul, and at last
his wife for these insane specu-
lations. Twice already, tonight and
once before, he sought to experiment
on me with slow, subtle poison, whose
very existence is known to few; poi
son that destroys not the body, but the
mind, by slow degrees; lingering
mental agony, finally affecting the for
mer through the latter as an empty
shell decays. Twice and each time
somethipg-was it fate or God Inter.
posed TO save me. The third time will
be fatal, and | am too weary to resist
or escape if | could. Farewell.
PALMA"
The sober sense of this nineteenth
century would say these are the rawlings
Of Madness" remarked Vansittart
laying down the paper and looking anx.
iously at his friend.
my own knowledge of early Italian
| chemistry and OF Bardi's infamous mt.