{"product_id":"2940012790811","title":"MARIE","description":"CONTENTS\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e     I.     ALLAN LEARNS FRENCH\u003cbr\u003e     II.    THE ATTACK ON MARAISFONTEIN\u003cbr\u003e     III.   THE RESCUE\u003cbr\u003e     IV.    HERNANDO PEREIRA\u003cbr\u003e     V.     THE SHOOTING MATCH\u003cbr\u003e     VI.    THE PARTING\u003cbr\u003e     VII.   ALLAN'S CALL\u003cbr\u003e     VIII.  THE CAMP OF DEATH\u003cbr\u003e     IX.    THE PROMISE\u003cbr\u003e     X.     VROUW PRINSLOO SPEAKS HER MIND\u003cbr\u003e     XI.    THE SHOT IN THE KLOOF\u003cbr\u003e     XII.   DINGAAN'S BET\u003cbr\u003e     XIII.  THE REHEARSAL\u003cbr\u003e     XIV.   THE PLAY\u003cbr\u003e     XV.    RETIEF ASKS A FAVOUR\u003cbr\u003e     XVI.   THE COUNCIL\u003cbr\u003e     XVII.  THE MARRIAGE\u003cbr\u003e     XVIII. THE TREATY\u003cbr\u003e     XIX.   DEPART IN PEACE\u003cbr\u003e     XX.    THE COURT-MARTIAL\u003cbr\u003e     XXI.   THE INNOCENT BLOOD\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCHAPTER I. ALLAN LEARNS FRENCH\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAlthough in my old age I, Allan Quatermain, have taken to writing--after\u003cbr\u003ea fashion--never yet have I set down a single word of the tale of my\u003cbr\u003efirst love and of the adventures that are grouped around her beautiful\u003cbr\u003eand tragic history. I suppose this is because it has always seemed to\u003cbr\u003eme too holy and far-off a matter--as holy and far-off as is that heaven\u003cbr\u003ewhich holds the splendid spirit of Marie Marais. But now, in my age,\u003cbr\u003ethat which was far-off draws near again; and at night, in the depths\u003cbr\u003ebetween the stars, sometimes I seem to see the opening doors through\u003cbr\u003ewhich I must pass, and leaning earthwards across their threshold, with\u003cbr\u003eoutstretched arms and dark and dewy eyes, a shadow long forgotten by all\u003cbr\u003esave me--the shadow of Marie Marais.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAn old man's dream, doubtless, no more. Still, I will try to set down\u003cbr\u003ethat history which ended in so great a sacrifice, and one so worthy of\u003cbr\u003erecord, though I hope that no human eye will read it until I also am\u003cbr\u003eforgotten, or, at any rate, have grown dim in the gathering mists of\u003cbr\u003eoblivion. And I am glad that I have waited to make this attempt, for it\u003cbr\u003eseems to me that only of late have I come to understand and appreciate\u003cbr\u003eat its true value the character of her of whom I tell, and the\u003cbr\u003epassionate affection which was her bounteous offering to one so utterly\u003cbr\u003eunworthy as myself. What have I done, I wonder, that to me should have\u003cbr\u003ebeen decreed the love of two such women as Marie and that of Stella,\u003cbr\u003ealso now long dead, to whom alone in the world I told all her tale?\u003cbr\u003eI remember I feared lest she should take it ill, but this was not so.\u003cbr\u003eIndeed, during our brief married days, she thought and talked much of\u003cbr\u003eMarie, and some of her last words to me were that she was going to seek\u003cbr\u003eher, and that they would wait for me together in the land of love, pure\u003cbr\u003eand immortal.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSo with Stella's death all that side of life came to an end for me,\u003cbr\u003esince during the long years which stretch between then and now I have\u003cbr\u003enever said another tender word to woman. I admit, however, that once,\u003cbr\u003elong afterwards, a certain little witch of a Zulu did say tender words\u003cbr\u003eto me, and for an hour or so almost turned my head, an art in which she\u003cbr\u003ehad great skill. This I say because I wish to be quite honest, although\u003cbr\u003eit--I mean my head, for there was no heart involved in the matter--came\u003cbr\u003estraight again at once. Her name was Mameena, and I have set down her\u003cbr\u003eremarkable story elsewhere.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo return. As I have already written in another book, I passed my youth\u003cbr\u003ewith my old father, a Church of England clergyman, in what is now the\u003cbr\u003eCradock district of the Cape Colony.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen it was a wild place enough, with a very small white population.\u003cbr\u003eAmong our few neighbours was a Boer farmer of the name of Henri Marais,\u003cbr\u003ewho lived about fifteen miles from our station, on a fine farm called\u003cbr\u003eMaraisfontein. I say he was a Boer, but, as may be guessed from both his\u003cbr\u003eChristian and surname, his origin was Huguenot, his forefather, who\u003cbr\u003ewas also named Henri Marais--though I think the Marais was spelt\u003cbr\u003erather differently then--having been one of the first of that faith who\u003cbr\u003eemigrated to South Africa to escape the cruelties of Louis XIV. at the\u003cbr\u003etime of the revocation of the Edict of Nantes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUnlike most Boers of similar descent, these particular Marais--for,\u003cbr\u003eof course, there are many other families so called--never forgot their\u003cbr\u003eorigin. Indeed, from father to son, they kept up some knowledge of the\u003cbr\u003eFrench tongue, and among themselves often spoke it after a fashion.\u003cbr\u003eAt any rate, it was the habit of Henri Marais, who was excessively\u003cbr\u003ereligious, to read his chapter of the Bible (which it is, or was, the\u003cbr\u003ecustom of the Boers to spell out every morning, should their learning\u003cbr\u003eallow them to do so), not in the \"taal\" or patois Dutch, but in good\u003cbr\u003eold French.","brand":"SAP","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47145520136432,"sku":"2940012790811","price":0.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0737\/7593\/9824\/files\/2940012790811_p0.jpg?v=1763572484","url":"https:\/\/shop-qa.barnesandnoble.com\/products\/2940012790811","provider":"Barnes \u0026 Noble (DEV)","version":"1.0","type":"link"}