Hearing the sound of the horses, one of these, Mynheer Marais, whom I
already knew, rose from his hide-strung chair. He was, as I think I
have said, not in the least like one of the phlegmatic Boers, either in
person or in temperament, but, rather, a typical Frenchman, although no
member of his race had set foot in France for a hundred and fifty years.
At least so I discovered afterwards, for, of course, in those days I
knew nothing of Frenchmen.

His companion was also French, Leblanc by name, but of a very different
stamp. In person he was short and stout. His large head was bald
except for a fringe of curling, iron-grey hair which grew round it just
above the ears and fell upon his shoulders, giving him the appearance of
a tonsured but dishevelled priest. His eyes were blue and watery, his
mouth was rather weak, and his cheeks were pale, full and flabby. When
the Heer Marais rose, I, being an observant youth, noted that Monsieur
Leblanc took the opportunity to stretch out a rather shaky hand and fill
up his coffee cup out of a black bottle, which from the smell I judged
to contain peach brandy.

In fact, it may as well be said at once that the poor man was a
drunkard, which explains how he, with all his high education and great
ability, came to hold the humble post of tutor on a remote Boer farm.
Years before, when under the influence of drink, he had committed some
crime in France--I don't know what it was, and never inquired--and fled
to the Cape to avoid prosecution. Here he obtained a professorship at
one of the colleges, but after a while appeared in the lecture-room
quite drunk and lost his employment. The same thing happened in other
towns, till at last he drifted to distant Maraisfontein, where his
employer tolerated his weakness for the sake of the intellectual
companionship for which something in his own nature seemed to crave.