avail myself of any that may be presented to me."

I said this loud enough for those behind to hear, so that no surprise
was evinced when the lieutenant bade the man who bore my sword return it
to me.

If he who may chance to read these simple pages shall have gathered
aught of my character from their perusal, he will marvel, perchance,
that I should give the lieutenant my parole, instead rather of watching
for an opportunity to--at least--attempt an escape. Preeminent in my
thoughts, however, stood at that moment the necessity to remove St.
Auban, and methought that by acting as I did I saw a way by which,
haply, I might accomplish this. What might thereafter befall me seemed
of little moment.

"M. de Montresor," I said presently, "your kindness impels me to set a
further tax upon your generosity."

"That is, Monsieur?"

"Bid your men fall back a little, and I will tell you."

He made a sign to his troopers, and when the distance between us had
been sufficiently widened, I began:

"There is a man at present across the river, yonder, who has done me
no little injury, and with whom I have a rendezvous at nine o'clock
to-night at St. Sulpice des Reaux, where our swords are to determine the
difference between us. I crave, Monsieur, your permission to keep that
appointment."

"Impossible!" he answered curtly.

I took a deep breath like a man who is about to jump an obstacle in his
path.

"Why impossible, Monsieur?"

"Because you are a prisoner, and therefore no longer under obligation to
keep appointments."

"How would you feel, Montresor, if, burning to be avenged upon a man
who had done you irreparable wrong, you were arrested an hour before
the time at which you were to meet this man, sword in hand, and your
captor--whose leave you craved to keep the assignation--answered you
with the word 'impossible'?"

"Yes, yes, Monsieur," he replied impatiently. "But you forget my
position. Let us suppose that I allow you to go to St. Sulpice des
Reaux. What if you do not return?"

"You mistrust me?" I exclaimed, my hopes melting.

"You misapprehend me. I mean, what if you are killed?"

"I do not think that I shall be."

"Ah! But what if you are? What shall I say to my Lord Cardinal?"

"Dame! That I am dead, and that he is saved the trouble of hanging me.
The most he can want of me is my life. Let us suppose that you had
come an hour later. You would have been forced to wait until after the
encounter, and,