He swore to question her face to face; to denounce her before Olivo, Amalia, the Marchese, the Abbate, the servants, as nothing better than a lustful little whore.

As if for practice, he recounted to himself in detail what he had just witnessed, delighting in the invention of incidents which would degrade her yet further.

He would say that she had stood naked at the window; that she had permitted the unchaste caresses of her lover while the morning wind played upon them both.
After thus allaying the first vehemence of his anger, he turned to consider whether he might not make a better use of his present knowledge.

Was she not in his power?
Could he not now exact by threats the favors which she had not been willing to grant him for love?
But this infamous design was speedily abandoned; not so much because Casanova realized its infamy, as because, even while the plan crossed his mind, he was aware of its futility.

Why should Marcolina, accountable to no one but herself, be concerned at his threats?
In the last resort she was astute enough, if needs must, to have him driven from the house as a slanderer and blackmailer.