All Paris was excited over the case of the handsome Andrea Cavalcanti, who was to descend from the heights of society into the depths of the criminal world. The lion of the day was to change himself into a common convict.

Large sums of money were paid for seats in the court-house, and long before the proceedings began every seat in the room was occupied by representatives of the most aristocratic families.

After the usual preliminaries, the judge, the jury, and the district-attorney took their places. Upon an order from the judge the policemen brought in the prisoner. Instead of a man borne down by shame, Cavalcanti showed himself to the crowd dressed in a ball suit, his face beaming with good humor.

The complaint was read without making the slightest impression upon the prisoner, who sat on his seat with the same ease and grace as he did, but a few days before, in the famous restaurant The Golden House.

"Prisoner," said the judge, "stand up and answer the questions I shall put to you. What is your full name?"

"I am very sorry," replied Andrea, without the slightest embarrassment, "that I am unable to answer the question just now; you can continue, however, and later on I will take an opportunity to give you information about the matter."

The people were dazed at the audacity of the prisoner.

"How old are you?" continued the judge.

"I was born on the night between the 27th and the 28th of September, 1807, at Auteuil, near Paris."

"What is your business?"

"I never bothered about the usual trades of the general run of people. I was first a counterfeiter, then a thief, and afterward committed my first murder."

A storm of anger ran through the assembly, even the judge and the jury could not suppress their loathing at the unheard of cynicism of the prisoner.

"Are you going to give your name now?" asked the judge.

"I am not able to give you my own name, but I know that of my father."

"Name it, then."

"My father is a district-attorney," continued the prisoner with great calmness, glancing at Monsieur de Villefort, who turned deathly pale.

"District-attorney?" exclaimed the judge, greatly astonished. "And his name is?"

"His name is Monsieur de Villefort, and he is sitting in front of you."

"You are fooling with the court," said the judge angrily. "I warn you for the last time and command you to tell the truth."

"I am speaking the truth," replied the prisoner, "and can prove it. Listen, and then judge. I was born on the first floor of the house No. 28 Rue de la Fontaine, at Auteuil, on the night of the 27th to the 28th of September, 1807. My father, Monsieur de Villefort, told my mother I was dead, wrapped me in a napkin marked H. 15, put me in a small box and buried me alive in the garden of the house. At the same moment he received a thrust in the side with a knife held by a person who was concealed, and he sank to the ground unconscious. The man who attacked my father dug out the box which had been buried, and which he supposed contained money, and thereby saved my life. He brought me to the foundling asylum, where I was inscribed as No. 37. Three months later I was taken from the asylum by the sister-in-law of the man, who was a Corsican, and brought me to Corsica, where I was brought up, and in spite of the care of my foster-parents acquired vices which steeped me in crime."

"And who was your mother?" asked the judge.

"My mother thought I was dead; I am a child of sin; I do not know my mother and do not wish to know her."

A cry rang through the court-room at this point; a lady had fainted, and was carried out of the hall by several bystanders.

At this cry the procureur du roi arose, and showed his ghastly face to the crowd.

"How are you going to prove these astounding revelations?" asked the judge of the prisoner.

With a malicious look the latter pointed to Monsieur de Villefort.

"Father, they wish to have proofs; do you also want me to give them?"

"No, it is unnecessary; everything you have said is true. I resign my office, and desire the court to appoint my successor as procureur du roi," said Monsieur de Villefort, in a faint voice.

"What!" exclaimed the judge, "you, a man whose character is above suspicion, allow yourself to be intimidated by the crazy declarations of a criminal! Collect yourself, and crush the malicious accusations with a word."

Villefort shook his head. With trembling limbs he left the court-room a broken-down man. The crowd respectfully made way for him, the extent of his misfortune making a deep impression upon all hearts.

"The court is adjourned until further notice," said the judge. "Policemen, take your prisoner back to jail."