"Because I shall not stand it," replied Anselmo, coldly. "You have me in your power, Benedetto. With an anonymous letter you could denounce me to-morrow as an escaped galley-slave and have me sent back to the galleys. I would not care a snap for that, but I most emphatically forbid you to throw a slur upon the reputation of the woman who lives with me under this roof."
"You forbid me? Come now, Anselmo, you speak in a peculiar tone," hissed Benedetto.
"I speak exactly in the tone the matter demands. You know my opinion; conduct yourself accordingly."
"And if I did not care to obey you?"
"Then I would denounce you, even though I put my own neck in danger."
"Ha! ha! I tell you you won't do anything of the kind."
"Listen," said Anselmo, "you do not know me. Yes, I was a wretch, a perjurer, worse than any highwayman. But I have suffered, suffered terribly for my sins, and since years it has been my only ambition to lead a blameless life as repentance for my crimes. I have taken care of a poor helpless being, and to defend her I will sacrifice my life. I bear everything to shield her from grief and misery; in fact, if it were necessary, I would accept her contempt, for if she ever found out who I am, she would despise me."
"Have you pen, ink and paper?" asked Benedetto, after Anselmo had concluded.
"Yes. What do you want to do with them?"
"You shall soon find out."