We must not omit to mention what took place in the garden the previous evening. When the banker, overcome by the heat of the rooms, took refuge in the fresh air, he had been followed by f.a.giano, who said to him, when out of hearing of every one:

"Monsieur de Laisangy, I know your past."

Laisangy started, and even uttered an exclamation of surprise. The other continued--a threat in every word. He asked for money--much money.

Laisangy knew that in his long career he had left many creditors in the lurch, and finally he said:

"Who are you? Why should I give you money? What is your name?"

To these questions the mysterious stranger replied:

"Take care--you will know my name only too soon!"

Since then Laisangy had been very uneasy. Possibly his conscience was not quite clear. He now came to see this f.a.giano in a state of rage, exasperated by the scene with Carmen, and the favorite of the Emperor now came to measure weapons with this stranger.

"Well, sir," said the banker, "this is the second time that you have seen fit to throw yourself in my path. Yesterday you addressed me in a fashion that savored of blackmail. What do you want? I do not know you, nor you me. I am a patient man, but even my patience has limits; and it may happen that I give my servants orders to throw you out of doors, neck and heels!"

The other, leaning with one elbow on the mantel, laughed aloud as he said:

"Ring, if you choose, my good fellow. There will then be a nice scandal!"

The banker's hand, even then on the bell, dropped at his side.

"Ah! I see you do not care for witnesses!"

Laisangy opened his lips to speak.

"And you are right, perhaps. Napoleon, who knew the world, said, 'It is always best to wash your dirty linen at home!' and we have--you and I--a tremendous wash on hand!"

Laisangy did not move; his eyes were fixed on the face of this man, to whom he could not give a name. He finally managed to say:

"I am not fond of mysteries. Who are you?"

"You do not know me, then?"

f.a.giano laughed, and in this laugh was a certain ferocity.

"Give me two hundred thousand francs and you will never see me again!"

Laisangy answered with a certain dignity:

"I never give alms to strangers."

"Bless my soul!" cried f.a.giano, "your manners are improving. You do not know my name, but I know yours, Monsieur Danglars!"

At this name the banker started back.

"You are mad!" he cried.

"Very well; but what would you say if at the Tuileries you heard yourself announced by your real name, Monsieur Danglars?"

Danglars, for it was he, drew a pistol from his pocket and presented it to f.a.giano's breast. He with a quick blow struck it from the banker's hand. It fell on the floor and fortunately did not go off. f.a.giano picked it up and drew the charge.

"Dangerous playthings and sad interruptions in a conversation," he said.

"We can understand each other without this. And now, having gotten through with this melodramatic scene, I tell you that I shall not be content with less than five hundred thousand francs."

Danglars was utterly confounded. But presently, gathering himself together, he said:

"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 t.i.tle 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 a.s.sa.s.sin; Benedetto, the convict. But that is not all. Are you acquainted with my father's name?"

"I heard of a scandalous suit, but I was not in France."

"No, you had fled. You were not here when, in the court-room, I flung my hatred and my loathing at the head of the Procureur du Roi--at the head of my father, Monsieur de Villefort. And do you know the name of my mother?"

"It was never given."

"I will tell it to you, nevertheless. She was Madame Danglars."

The banker started to his feet, his whole frame twitching nervously.

"It is not true! It is not true!" he cried.

"She was my mother, I tell you, and I punished her as she deserved, for I killed her!"

"Horrible! Horrible!" And the wretched man who listened to these words wrung his hands.

"Yes, and here is the proof."

Benedetto drew from his pocketbook the paper on which Sanselme had written the lines he had dictated.

"Read this," he said. "I was not alone; the witness is still living, and I can produce him if necessary."

Danglars had fallen back in his chair.