"I am not intimidated by your threats. You can make what use you please of your knowledge, you share it with many others. No one cares."
"But I have more to say. I propose to reveal my own name to you. Can I so change that you do not recognize me?"
"I never saw you before."
"How does it happen, Monsieur Danglars, that you have a daughter of twenty when your wife was living fifteen years since? She had a daughter by you, and her name was not Carmen."
Danglars was disconcerted. He threw himself upon a chair.
"Go on," he said.
"Ah! you are beginning to understand me, are you? I know what I say, and will prove it to you. You, as a banker, enriched yourself in speculations, each more dishonorable than the other, and you encountered a man who crushed you like a worm under his heel. You fell, but you are of the kind that bounds, and to-day you are once more upon a pinnacle. You vegetated for years, until the moment came when you could once more seize fortune in your grasp. You are no longer Danglars the bankrupt and thief—you are Laisangy, respected and trusted. Know then that I have it in my power to throw you back into the mire from which you have struggled. I am ready to be your enemy or your accomplice, the choice is in your hands."
"Ah! I know you!" cried Danglars, throwing up his hands. "You are Andrea Cavalcanti. Yes, it is all coming back to me. You called yourself by a title to which you had no claim; you professed to have a fortune that had no existence, and you introduced yourself into my family. But the day came when the law interfered!"
"Ah! your memory is an excellent one!" Then relinquishing his sneer and his smile, he leaned toward Danglars. "I am Benedetto, the assassin; Benedetto, the convict. But that is not all. Are you acquainted with my father's name?"