Seize him
      and unmask him—that we may know whom we have to hang at sunrise,
      from the battlements!”

      It was in the eastern or blue chamber in which stood the Prince
      Prospero as he uttered these words. They rang throughout the
      seven rooms loudly and clearly—for the prince was a bold and
      robust man, and the music had become hushed at the waving of his
      hand. It was in the blue room where stood the prince, with a group of
      pale courtiers by his side. At first, as he spoke, there was a
      slight rushing movement of this group in the direction of the
      intruder, who at the moment was also near at hand, and now, with
      deliberate and stately step, made closer approach to the speaker. But from a certain nameless awe with which the mad assumptions of
      the mummer had inspired the whole party, there were found none
      who put forth hand to seize him; so that, unimpeded, he passed
      within a yard of the prince’s person; and, while the vast
      assembly, as if with one impulse, shrank from the centres of the
      rooms to the walls, he made his way uninterruptedly, but with the
      same solemn and measured step which had distinguished him from
      the first, through the blue chamber to the purple—through the
      purple to the green—through the green to the orange—through this
      again to the white—and even thence to the violet, ere a decided
      movement had been made to arrest him. It was then, however, that
      the Prince Prospero, maddening with rage and the shame of his own
      momentary cowardice, rushed hurriedly through the six chambers,
      while none followed him on account of a deadly terror that had
      seized upon all. He bore aloft a drawn dagger, and had
      approached, in rapid impetuosity, to within three or four feet of
      the retreating figure, when the latter, having attained the
      extremity of the velvet apartment, turned suddenly and confronted
      his pursuer. There was a sharp cry—and the dagger dropped
      gleaming upon the sable carpet, upon which, instantly afterwards,
      fell prostrate in death the Prince Prospero. Then, summoning the
      wild courage of despair, a throng of the revellers at once threw
      themselves into the black apartment, and, seizing the mummer,
      whose tall figure stood erect and motionless within the shadow of
      the ebony clock, gasped in unutterable horror at finding the
      grave-cerements and corpse-like mask which they handled with so
      violent a rudeness, untenanted by any tangible form. And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had
      come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the
      revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died
      each in the despairing posture of his fall. And the life of the
      ebony clock went out with that of the last of the gay. And the
      flames of the tripods expired. And Darkness and Decay and the Red
      Death held illimitable dominion over all. THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO. The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could;
      but when he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge. You, who so
      well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that
      I gave utterance to a threat. _At length_ I would be avenged;
      this was a point definitively settled—but the very definitiveness
      with which it was resolved, precluded the idea of risk. I must
      not only punish, but punish with impunity. A wrong is unredressed
      when retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally
      unredressed when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such
      to him who has done the wrong. It must be understood, that neither by word nor deed had I given
      Fortunato cause to doubt my good will. I continued, as was my
      wont, to smile in his face, and he did not perceive that my smile
      _now_ was at the thought of his immolation. He had a weak point—this Fortunato—although in other regards he
      was a man to be respected and even feared. He prided himself on
      his connoisseurship in wine. Few Italians have the true virtuoso
      spirit. For the most part their enthusiasm is adopted to suit the
      time and opportunity—to practise imposture upon the British and
      Austrian _millionaires_. In painting and gemmary, Fortunato, like
      his countrymen, was a quack—but in the matter of old wines he was
      sincere. In this respect I did not differ from him materially: I
      was skilful in the Italian vintages myself, and bought largely
      whenever I could. It was about dusk, one evening during the supreme madness of the
      carnival season, that I encountered my friend. He accosted me
      with excessive warmth, for he had been drinking much. The man
      wore motley. He had on a tight-fitting parti-striped dress, and
      his head was surmounted by the conical cap and bells. I was so
      pleased to see him, that I thought I should never have done
      wringing his hand. I said to him: “My dear Fortunato, you are luckily met. How
      remarkably well you are looking to-day! But I have received a
      pipe of what passes for Amontillado, and I have my doubts.”

      “How?” said he. “Amontillado? A pipe? Impossible! And in the
      middle of the carnival!”

      “I have my doubts,” I replied; “and I was silly enough to pay the
      full Amontillado price without consulting you in the matter. You
      were not to be found, and I was fearful of losing a bargain.”

      “Amontillado!”

      “I have my doubts.”

      “Amontillado!”

      “And I must satisfy them.”

      “Amontillado!”

      “As you are engaged, I am on my way to Luchesi. If any one has a
      critical turn, it is he. He will tell me—”

      “Luchesi cannot tell Amontillado from Sherry.”

      “And yet some fools will have it that his taste is a match for
      your own.”

      “Come, let us go.”

      “Whither?”

      “To your vaults.”

      “My friend, no; I will not impose upon your good nature. I
      perceive you have an engagement. Luchesi—”

      “I have no engagement;—come.”

      “My friend, no. It is not the engagement, but the severe cold
      with which I perceive you are afflicted. The vaults are
      insufferably damp. They are encrusted with nitre.”

      “Let us go, nevertheless. The cold is merely nothing. Amontillado! You have been imposed upon. And as for Luchesi, he
      cannot distinguish Sherry from Amontillado.”

      Thus speaking, Fortunato possessed himself of my arm. Putting on
      a mask of black silk, and drawing a _roquelaire_ closely about my
      person, I suffered him to hurry me to my palazzo. There were no attendants at home; they had absconded to make
      merry in honor of the time. I had told them that I should not
      return until the morning, and had given them explicit orders not
      to stir from the house.