This chapter just might the sappiest thing I've ever written! You've been warned.

Later that night, after Ultime and Madeleine had fallen asleep, Angelique lay awake in her bed. The door to her room was open, and if she listened closely, she could hear Mama and Papa still talking downstairs. She couldn't make out their words, but their voices sounded urgent. When she suddenly heard their front door open and close, she thought that perhaps the old man had come back. She knew, deep down, that it was silly hope — if he came back at all, it wouldn't be this late at night — but she couldn't help it. She so wanted to see him again.

Angelique slipped out of her bed and crept downstairs to the landing. When she crouched down and pressed her face against the railing, she could see most of the parlor beneath her. Mama was there, still sitting on the divan, looking as if she were waiting for something. After a moment, the front door opened and closed again, and Papa came into the parlor.

"I thought I was seeing things at first," he said softly. "I went to the sidewalk, and you can see two sets of footprints coming down the street in the snow, Angelique's and another set, a bigger one."

Mama gasped, her hand flying up to her mouth. "Y-you can? Really?"

Papa nodded and went on slowly, "You can see where Angelique's turn to come inside, but the other footprints — they just stop. They don't... lead off anywhere."

Angelique's mouth fell open a bit as she listened. How could that old man have disappeared without leaving any footprints behind him?

Suddenly Mama burst into tears, crying as hard as Angelique had ever seen her cry. "It was Papa," she said over and over, through her sobs. "It was him, Marius, I know it was." And Papa was holding her in his arms, saying something soft and soothing that Angelique couldn't make out.

Angelique laid down on the rug on the landing and stared up at the ceiling, thinking. It was Papa, Mama had said, but she didn't mean Angelique's papa. She called him Marius, of course. Could she have meant her own papa? But... he was dead. Angelique called Grandfather Gillenormand her grandfather, but she knew that he was actually her great-grandfather, and that all of her grandparents were in heaven. Mama's mother had died when she was just a little girl, younger than Angelique was now, and her father died right after she and Papa were married. His name was Ultime, too.

Mama couldn't remember her mother, but she had told Angelique and her siblings about her father, about how kind and gentle he'd been. On nights when they couldn't sleep, she would say, Close your eyes, and I'll sing you a song my papa used to sing to me when I was little. And when they wanted to hear a story, she always began with, Sit down, and I'll read you this one. My papa used to read this to me when I was your age. Angelique knew his handwriting very well, for it was in the children's Bible, the collection of Aesop's fables, and all the story-books that had been Mama's. To my Cosette, with love from Papa, he'd written in each one.

Then Angelique remembered the kind, strong old man who'd carried the tree home for her, and everything seemed to fit together like a picture puzzle — how warm her hand had felt in his, how he'd moved with Mama's motions, how he said he'd come down to Paris for a visit, how he'd asked Angelique to tell Mama merry Christmas. And hadn't he called her by name, too? Angelique didn't remember ever telling him her name.

Was it really possible? Had she really met her grandfather, come down from heaven? The idea was exciting and a little scary, like meeting a ghost, but the longer Angelique thought about it, the more natural it seemed. Christmas was the season for miracles to happen, wasn't it? Just this evening at church, the priest had read a passage from the Gospels about angels filling the sky when Jesus was born. Surely if there was one night of the whole year when her grandfather could come down to earth from heaven, then this was it, Christmas Eve.

From downstairs, Mama's sobs were tapering off. Her voice was calmer now, and Angelique caught snippets of her words. "...that yellow coat... glad that at least... think he wanted me to know that the baby is with him now..."

Angelique didn't remember falling asleep there on the landing, but suddenly she was waking up as footsteps thumped upstairs, coming closer. She cracked her eyes open and saw Papa's feet beside her on the landing.

"Angelique? What are you doing sleeping on the stairs? I nearly stepped on you," he said, as he stooped over her and picked her up. "I suppose you were hoping to catch a glimpse of Père Noël. Come on, bichette, let's get you back into bed." And even though she was a big girl now, nine-years-old, she smiled, laid her head against Papa's shoulder, and let him carry her to her room and tuck her back into bed.

"You quite saved Christmas tonight, bichette," Papa said softly, as he smoothed the blankets over her and kissed her cheek. "I don't know what we'd've done without you. Goodnight, love."

"Goodnight, Papa," she whispered. She was tired, but she didn't fall asleep right away. She rolled onto her side and titled her head to look out her window at the stars. They twinkled in the dark sky, and she imagined the white-haired old man in the yellow coat looking down at her from them. This wasn't been the worst Christmas of her life after all, and even if there were no presents tomorrow morning, Angelique decided that she didn't mind. She'd met her grandfather, and her mama had felt well enough to get out of bed, and no presents could be better than that.

"Goodnight, Grandfather," she whispered to the stars.

FIN