“’Twas the marriage portion of my grandmother in France, then of my mother also, and was to be mine. I will give it to you for my father, Monsieur Valvier.”
The sight of the jewels recalled to the Intendant scenes in his native Spain, where the Spanish grandees loved to ruffle it in laces and jewels of the choicest description, and where the dusky Spanish beauties often chose pearls, since these milky gems but served to throw out the fire of their eyes and the rich tones of their olive skins. As he mused, passing the pearls between his fingers, poor Annette was torn with anxiety lest the necklace should fall short of the ransom desired.
“Oh, Monsieur, is it not enough?” she cried, one trembling hand holding the other; “we have naught else, my mother is ill,—I came alone”; and the tears so bravely held back now fell in showers.
The Intendant had no idea of giving up the necklace, yet was not wholly cruel; so, striking on a bell, he called to the orderly who answered it,—
“Bring Valvier hither.”
The sound of the words caused Annette to wipe her eyes, and in a moment, with a little scream of joy, she rushed into the arms of her father, whose wonder at her presence froze the words on his lips.
“Monsieur Valvier,” said the Intendant, “you are free. The ransom provided by your daughter is sufficient. But you must give me your parole that you will never again bear arms against the Spanish flag, and that you will accept such regulations as Spain deems best for her colonies.”
“I give my parole,” answered Monsieur Valvier; “but, Annette, ransom—what had you, poor child?”
Annette’s face was wreathed in smiles as she whispered in his ear, “The pearl necklace, dearest father.”
