The herald., 1893-07-30

kEI6nuOn TO Une tnlnSl Leu uS pe d 1ndils
what, the deuce!"
And returned home that evening as
usual, after having Gined and visited the
cafe.
I had planned to work hard that even
ing. in order to make haste to finish.
Having entered the house l made as
usual an inspection of the apartment
and found everything as before. Not
even chair out of place. Then l went
into my study and lighted the gas, to be-
gin work.
But as soon as ! seated myself at the
desk and cast glance upon the manu-
script where had left off writing,
marvellous, amazing surprise awaited
me.
You must know that was writing a
novel-oh, what novel; Something
fine, exceptionally fine! A romance like
that surely no one ever wrote. The
real and the fanciful, the romantic, the
classic, the naturalistic, were skillfully
mingled in it.
Now that day when went out had
interrupted the story at very Interest,"
ing point and the period ended thus:
"He burst into sonorous laugh OF
scorn; he was very sure that the time OF
phantoms and specters was long past!
That apparition then gave him no fear.
1t must be a trick"
I had left it there.
Taking up the pen in order to con-
tinue, with my good cigar lighted in my
mouth, cast my eyes on the paper, and
what did see?
Just heavens! What indeed!
Directly below the last line written by
me had been written one word only:
Fooll There it was, ironical and men
acing. in Gothic letters, which showed
the handwriting of former age.
Who had traced this scornful and
mocking word? You can imagine wheth-
er remained amazed. / will say even
more-I felt an impression of terror.
My servant did not know how to read or
write No one had come into the house
during the day. Then by whom had the
words been written?
1 grew hvid and felt myself shudder.
/ sprang to my feet. 1 felt the hair
stand on end upon my head and cold
perspiration trickle down my foreheadl
Tic, the accursed stuffed cat, looked
fxedly at me, and his green eyes seemed
to dilate and become variegated with
a thousand colors. But was that cat
really stuffed9 Or was he not rather
alive by virtue of some witohcraft?
All at once reused myself. ! had
feeling of shame and rage; and furious,
striking with heavy fist on the writing
desk, exclaimed:
"But who is the demon who has writ
ten this word? l would like to know
him to twist his neck%
If l were to live thousand years, l
shall never forget what happened then.
l had hardly finished speaking those
words when the study resounded with
mocking laughter-dry, strident, infer
nal.
Then the wall opened suddenly, and
there came forth woman wrapped In
a great black mantle. And Tic, the ac-
cursed cat, made leap from his pillar,
and mewing as he had never mewed in
his lifetime went to rub himself against
that mysterious being.
/ drew back more dead than alive.
Still, had enough presence Of mind to
stretch hand behind me, open drawer
of the desk and take out a loaded re-
volver. AS soon as had seized the
weapon felt safer. 1oiwr
raised my arm and pointed the re-
volver at that being, with the exclama-
ton:
"Now, we will see who you are!"
Alas! Once, twice, thrice touched the
trigger, but the revolver was no longer
obedient.
The mysterious figure made two steps
toward me. The black mantle that en-
folded her fell to the floor.
What feaSful sightl 1t was not
man nor woman. Itwas skeleton-a
skeleton with two lights flaming in its
empty, cavernous eye sockets-a skeleton
that laughed satanically, while the cat
Tic made fantastic and wild leaps.
1t was-it was Deathl
In the morning they found me insensi-
BILE in my den. The servant ran to call
a physician. who found me in a high
fever. My family hastened from the
country. was taken care of, treated
and cured. But the fact remains, my
hair had turned gray.
When was able to return to my den,
the cat Tic was no longer there. My
wife had made coup d'etat and sent it
to be thrown into the river. The column
had also disappeared. 1t had been given
away, do not know to whom.
My manuscript was. however, still in
It's place. Only the word "Foolp was no
longer there.
Then it had not been written?
Still was very sure Of having read it.
Who knows? If the cat Tic had still
been there, perhaps he could have told
me. But poor Tic was there no more.
Then, what am to think
What shall Ibelieve?-Translated From
the Italian For Short Stories.