I was but thinking.
"Believe me, M.de Luynes," he said kindly, "when I tell you that it grieves me to be charged with this matter.

I have done my best to capture you.

That was my duty.

But I should have rejoiced had I failed with the consciousness of having done all in my power." "Thanks, Montresor," I murmured, and silence followed.
"I have been thinking, Monsieur," he went on presently, "that possibly the absence of your sword causes you discomfort." "Eh?
Discomfort?
It does, most damnably!" "Give me your parole d'honneur that you will attempt no escape, and not only shall your sword be returned to you, but you shall travel to Paris with all comfort and dignity." Now, so amazed was I that I paused to stare at the officer who was young enough to make such a proposal to a man of my reputation.

He turned his face towards me, and in the moonlight I could make out his questioning glance.
"Eh, bien, Monsieur ?" "I am more than grateful to you, M.de Montresor," I replied, "and I freely give you my word of honour to seek no means of eluding you, nor to 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.