My dear Fortunato, you are luckily met. Howremarkably well you are looking to-day!
“How?” said he, “Amontillado? A pipe? Impossible!And in the middleof the carnival?”
“Nitre,” I replied. “How long have you had that cough?”
“Ugh! ugh! ugh! — ugh! ugh! ugh!
“Drink,” I said, presenting him the wine
“I drink,” he said, “to the buried that repose around us.”
“It is nothing,” he said; “let us go on. But first, another draught ofthe Medoc.”
The nitre!” I said: “see, it increases. It hangs like moss upon thevaults. We are below the river’s bed.The drops of moisture trickle amongthe bones. Come, we will go back ere it is too late. Your cough—”
“Yes,” I said, “let us be gone.”s“For the love of God, Montresor!”“Yes,” I said, “for the love of God!”But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply. I grew impatient.I called aloud—“Fortunato!” No answer. I called again—“Fortunato!”