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 skillful 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!"