Pitolet maliciously added: "And which will gravely injure your honour, and your future advancement."
Lesable, overwhelmed, looked at them. What should he do? He sought to gain time. "Will you wait a moment in the office of Monsieur Pitolet? You shall have my answer in ten minutes."
When at last alone he looked around him, seeking for some counsel, some protection.
A duel! He was going to fight a duel!
He sat terrified, with a beating heart. He, a peaceful man, who had never dreamed of such a possibility, who was not prepared for the risk, whose courage was not equal to such a formidable event. He rose from his chair and sat down again, his heart wildly beating, his legs sinking under him. His anger and his strength had totally deserted him.
But the thought of the opinion of the Ministry, the gossip the story would make among his acquaintances, aroused his failing pride, and, not knowing what to decide, he sought his chief to ask his advice. M. Torchebeuf was surprised and perplexed. An armed encounter seemed to him unnecessary, and he thought a duel would demoralise the service. He replied: "I can give you no advice. It is a question of honour, which does not concern me. Do you wish that I should give you a note to Commandant Bouc? He is a competent man in such matters, and will be able to advise you."
Lesable accepted the offer, and saw the commandant, who even consented to be his second; he took an under-chief for another.
Boissel and Pitolet waited with their gloves on. They had borrowed two chairs from another office, in order to have four seats.
They saluted gravely and took their places, while Pitolet explained the situation. The commandant, having listened attentively, replied: "The case is serious, but it does not appear to me to be irreparable. Everything depends on the intention." He was a sly old sailor, who was enjoying himself.
A long discussion began regarding the reciprocal apologies the principals should make. M. Maze acknowledging not to have had the intention to offend, M. Lesable should hasten to avow himself in the wrong in throwing the inkstand at the head of M. Maze, and pray to be excused for his inconsiderate violence.