“Alas, dear child, I know too well that there is naught left which may be turned into money to procure my freedom. I see too late that I have been led away from my duties to my little ones and their mother. God grant that they may be kept in safety; as for me my heart is breaking!”
Madame Valvier was too ill to give Annette any counsel. All day long the child kept saying to herself,—
“My father must be ransomed, but how? Where shall I get the gold? Oh, mamma, if you could but help me!”
At last, passing through the children’s room while waiting on her mother, Annette’s eyes fell upon the boards which concealed the leaden-lined box containing the papers and necklace.
“The pearl necklace,” she cried softly to herself, “why have I not thought of it before?” Removing the cover, she felt hurriedly within the enclosure to assure herself that it was safe.
The rest of that day, as she went about her duties, her one thought was of the way to get it to her father, and at last she decided that she must go with it herself. There was no one whom she could trust with this price of her father’s freedom, and her heart was full of the thought of saving him, so that there was no room for fear.
She determined to start that night, and, used from infancy to the management of a boat, she did not hesitate as to the means of travelling.
But her mother—how to leave her?
She called the woman from the kitchen, an old slave but a faithful one, and bade her sleep within the next room, so that if Madame called she should hear her.
“For,” said Annette, “see, Tignon, I must go on a message for my father. When my mother wakens, tell her that I shall soon return,—remember, Tignon, soon return.”