The handsome Maze dropped the tails of his coat, and began to stroke
his mustache. "I know that you ordinarily succeed in all that you
undertake. I have done wrong to speak of you. Besides, we were speaking
of old Savon's children, and not of yours, as you haven't any. Now since
you succeed in all your enterprises, it is evident that, if you do not
have children, it is because you do not want them."
"What business is it of yours?" demanded Lesable sharply.
At this provoking tone Maze in his turn raised his voice: "Hold on!
what do you take me for? Try to be polite, or I'll settle you!"
Lesable trembled with anger, and losing all self-control, replied:
"Monsieur Maze, I am not, like you, a great booby, or a great coxcomb.
And I forbid you ever to speak to me again. I care neither for you nor
your kind." And he threw a look of defiance at Pitolet and Boissel.
Maze suddenly understood that true force is in calmness and irony, but
wounded in his most vulnerable part--his vanity--he wished to strike his
enemy to the very heart, and replied in the protecting tone of a
benevolent well-wisher, but with rage in his eyes: "My dear Lesable, you
pass all bounds. But I understand your vexation. It is pitiful to lose a
fortune, and to lose it for so little, for a thing so easy, so simple. If
you wish, I will do you this service myself, for nothing, out of pure
friendship. It is only an affair of five minutes--"
He was still speaking when Lesable hurled the inkstand of old Savon
full at his head.
A flood of ink covered his face and metamorphosed him into a negro with
surprising rapidity. He sprang forward, rolling the whites of his eyes,
with his hands raised ready to strike. But Cachelin covered his
son-in-law, and grasping Maze by the arms pushed him aside, and, after
pounding him well, dashed him against the wall. Maze disengaged himself
with a violent effort, and rushed through the door, crying to the two men:
"You shall soon hear from me!" Pitolet and Boissel followed him.
Boissel explained his moderation by declaring he should have killed
some one if he had taken part in the struggle.
As soon as he entered his room Maze endeavoured to remove the stain,
but without success. The ink was violet, and was indelible and
ineffaceable. He stood before his glass furious and disconsolate, rubbing
savagely at his face with a napkin rolled in a knot. He obtained only a
richer black, mixed with red, the blood coming to the surface with the
friction.
Boissel and Pitolet strove to advise and console him. One suggested the
application of pure olive oil, the other prescribed a bath of ammonia. The
office boy was sent to ask the advice of a chemist. He brought back a
yellow liquid and pumice stone, which was used with no result.
Maze, disheartened, sank into a chair and declared: "Now it only
remains to settle the question of honour. Will you act as seconds for me,
and demand of Monsieur Lesable a sufficient apology, or the reparation by
arms?"
They both at once consented, and began to discuss the steps to be
taken. They had no idea about affairs of this kind, but not wishing to
betray their ignorance, and desiring to appear correct, their advice were
timorous and conflicting. It was finally decided that they should consult
a sea captain who was attached to the Ministry to look after the coal
distribution. But he was as ignorant as they were. After some moments of
reflection, however, he advised them to go and see Lesable and ask to be
put in touch with two of his friends.
As they proceeded to the office of their colleague, Boissel suddenly
stopped. "Is it not imperative that we should have gloves?" he asked.
Pitolet hesitated an instant. "Perhaps it is," he replied seriously.
But in order to procure the gloves it would have been necessary to go out,
and the chief was rather severe.
They sent the office boy to bring an assortment from the nearest
glove-store.
To decide upon the colour was a question of time. Boissel preferred
black. Pitolet thought that shade out of place in the circumstances. At
last they chose violet.
Seeing the two men enter gloved and solemn, Lesable raised his head
and brusquely demanded: "What do you want?"
Pitolet replied: "Monsieur, we are charged by our friend. Monsieur
Maze, to ask of you an apology, or a reparation by arms for the insult you
have inflicted on him."
Lesable, still greatly exasperated, cried: "What, he insults me, and
sends you to provoke me? Tell him that I despise him--that I despise all
he can say or do."
Boissel advanced with a tragic air. "You will force us. Monsieur, to
publish in the papers an official report, which will be very disagreeable
to you."
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.
The four proxies returned to their clients.
Maze, seated before his table, was agitated by the dread of the
possible duel, although expecting to see his adversary retreat, and
regarded his face attentively in one of those little, round tin mirrors
which the employees concealed in a drawer for the purpose of adjusting
their hair and ties before leaving in the evening. He read the letter of
apology which had been prepared by the seconds of both parties, and
declared with evident satisfaction: "That appears to me to be very
honourable; I am willing to sign it."
Lesable, for his part, accepted without discussion the arrangement of
his seconds, and declared: "As this is the result of your mutual
consultation, I can but acquiesce."
The four plenipotentiaries assembled. The letters were exchanged, they
saluted gravely, and so the affair terminated. An extraordinary excitement
reigned in the Ministry. The employees, carrying the news, passed from
one door to the other, and lingered to gossip about in the lobbies. When
they heard how the affair had ended, there was general disappointment.
Some one said: "Still, that will not get Lesable a baby." And the saying
took. One employee made a rhyme upon it.
But at the moment when everything seemed adjusted, a difficulty
suggested itself to Boissel: "What would be the attitude of the two
adversaries when they found themselves face to face? Would they speak, or
would they ignore each other?" It was decided that they should meet, as if
by chance, in the office of the chief, and exchange, in the presence
of M. Torchebeuf, some words of politeness.
This ceremony was accordingly accomplished, and Maze, having sent for
a carriage, returned home, to try to remove the stain from his face.
Lesable and Cachelin drove home together without speaking, mutually
exasperated, each blaming the other for the disgraceful affair.
The moment he entered the house, Lesable threw his hat violently on
the table and cried to his wife: "I have had enough of it! I have a
duel on your account now!" She looked at him in angry surprise.
"A duel? How is that?"
"Because Maze has insulted me on your account."