“Oh, father!” interrupted Annette, breathlessly, “will you take an army into the city?”
“So I hope; and these, with the loyal French Guard and the citizens, will enable us to sweep onwards, and Don Antonio will find what manner of men he has to deal with, and we will not rest till he is safely confined within the walls of the Belize.”
In the excitement of his story Monsieur Valvier’s voice rose till there came from the room beyond, where Madame Valvier lay, the sleepy question as to why they talked so late.
Putting his finger to his lip to warn Annette, he replied,—
“I but tell a tale to Annette, who will go now to bed.” Kissing her fondly good night, he whispered in her ear,—
“Remember to tell not a word, Annette, and lest I do not see you alone again, I say farewell, till we put the hated Spaniard where he will do no further harm.”
Although Annette crept to bed, her eyes for a long time stared into the darkness. She feared, not for the success of her father’s mission, but lest in some way he be hurt. She saw, as he described it, Don Ulloa safely confined in the dreaded Belize, and she rejoiced in her childish heart over the grand part her father was to take in keeping Louisiana for the French.
When the next night came, she peeped cautiously out from between the casements, and saw dark figures take their places in the pirogues drawn up at the landing and silently paddle down the Bayou.
She saw her father in the leading boat, and with him were several of their own men, and in the flaring light of the single torch she saw the gleaming of the guns.
In a silent adieu she waved her hand, even though she knew that her father could not see her, and confiding on his belief and assurance of success, she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep, and over the whole plantation rested an absolute quiet.