When, on that day, I shuffled shyly into this homely place, and, thinking myself alone there, fell to examining it, suddenly I was brought to a standstill by a curious choking sound which seemed to proceed from the shadows behind the bookcase.  Wondering as to its cause, I advanced cautiously to discover a pink-clad shape standing in the corner like a naughty child, with her head resting against the wall, and sobbing slowly.

“Marie Marais, why do you cry?” I asked.

She turned, tossing back the locks of long, black hair which hung about her face, and answered: 

“Allan Quatermain, I cry because of the shame which has been put upon you and upon our house by that drunken Frenchman.”

“What of that?” I asked.  “He only called me a pig, but I think I have shown him that even a pig has tusks.”

“Yes,” she replied, “but it was not you he meant; it was all the English, whom he hates; and the worst of it is that my father is of his mind.  He, too, hates the English, and, oh!  I am sure that trouble will come of his hatred, trouble and death to many.”

“Well, if so, we have nothing to do with it, have we?” I replied with the cheerfulness of extreme youth.

“What makes you so sure?” she said solemnly.  “Hush! here comes Monsieur Leblanc.”

CHAPTER II

THE ATTACK ON MARAISFONTEIN

I do not propose to set out the history of the years which I spent in acquiring a knowledge of French and various other subjects, under the tuition of the learned but prejudiced Monsieur Leblanc.  Indeed, there is “none to tell, sir.”  When Monsieur Leblanc was sober, he was a most excellent and well-informed tutor, although one apt to digress into many side issues, which in themselves were not uninstructive.  When tipsy, he grew excited and harangued us, generally upon politics and religion, or rather its reverse, for he was an advanced freethinker, although this was a side to his character which, however intoxicated he might be, he always managed to conceal from the Heer Marais.  I may add that a certain childish code of honour prevented us from betraying his views on this and sundry other matters.  When absolutely drunk, which, on an average, was not more than once a month, he simply slept, and we did what we pleased—­a fact which our childish code of honour also prevented us from betraying.

But, on the whole, we got on very well together, for, after the incident of our first meeting, Monsieur Leblanc was always polite to me.  Marie he adored, as did every one about the place, from her father down to the meanest slave.  Need I add that I adored her more than all of them put together, first with the love that some children have for each other, and afterwards, as we became adult, with that wider love by which it is at once transcended and made complete.  Strange would it have been if this were not so, seeing that we spent nearly half of every week practically alone together, and that, from the first, Marie, whose nature was as open as the clear noon, never concealed her affection for me.  True, it was a very discreet affection, almost sisterly, or even motherly, in its outward and visible aspects, as though she could never forget that extra half-inch of height or month or two of age.