Thirteen-year-old Marguerite stared in wonder at the marvellous things. Dolls and soldiers, stuffed rabbits and bears, miniature dancers and musicians all seemed to be celebrating some great event, just on the other side of the frosted panes. Part of the young girl longed to go inside and have a closer look, but another part knew none of those things could compare to Genevieve, her mother’s doll, with her angelic face and perfectly curled brown hair. If the little doll’s dress was a little plain and the paint on her porcelain face was faded a bit, little Marguerite didn’t care.
"Here you, get out of here!" The harsh voice startled Marguerite and she turned from the window. "I won’t have filthy little urchins keeping my customers away!" The fat shopkeeper’s hand swatted at Marguerite like she was a troublesome dog.
Shocking even herself, the young girl stood her ground. "I’m not harming anyone. I have the same right to be here as anyone else."
The shopkeeper’s face turned a brighter shade of red. "Do you have any money to spend in my shop, impertinent brat?"
Fingering the three copper coins in her pocket, her savings since summer, Marguerite shook her head, her red curls fluttering about her shoulders.
"Then get off!" the shopkeeper hissed at her, and swung his arm to hit her forcefully. She avoided him easily and, without even a last glance at the wondrous toys beyond the window, she set off, almost skipping. It was Christmas Eve and not even an odious man like that shopkeeper could dampen her spirits. She had more important things to think about. Armand’s present must be found before the shops closed. A brother like Armand deserved something wonderful, something perfect, something–
Marguerite stopped mid-thought and let out a sigh. Even if she could find something that was perfect enough to deserve Armand’s ownership, the three coins in her pocket would barely purchase a day’s food. Armand didn’t even know she had them. She had spent many a hungry afternoon to save them.
For a moment, Marguerite thought back to the more comfortable time, not long ago, when Maman and Papa were still alive. The money the loving parents had managed to leave their children was enough for necessities, but only just enough. The lawyers had taken the rest, but they had each salvaged one possession. Each day, Armand would pull Papa’s watch from his pocket and Marguerite still clutched her Maman’s delicate doll at night.
When Marguerite was herself again, she was before a jeweller’s shop, the window glazed with the breath of passers by. She glanced absently at the wares.
There it was!
Laid out among others, was a plain gold chain. Just the thing for Papa’s watch. Armand wore that watch with the greatest pride, but alas, it was hung only on a leather thong. Not nearly good enough for a watch that her dear Armand held in such esteem. It was certainly far more than she could pay. Still, with a brave breath, she pushed open the door to the shop.
The shopkeeper looked up as the bell above the door jingled merrily. He was eating a bit of lunch, but he abandoned it easily and greeted his young customer with a smile, despite her simple clothes and appearance of genteel poverty.
"Welcome, my dear. What may I do for you this fine day?"
"If you please sir." She spoke in the most ladylike voice she could manage. "How much is the watch chain in the window? The third from the left."
The man moved to the window to ascertain which chain she wanted, then carrying it back with him, held it out before Marguerite’s wondering eyes. "Beautiful, isn’t it? Only three Louis."
Though Marguerite had predicted this, her heart sank. Her face must have shown her disappointment as well, for the shopkeeper leaned toward her. "You want to have this for your Papa’s Christmas present."
"F-for my brother." Marguerite was ashamed of the chocking sound her voice made. What was she to do?
The shopkeeper bit his lips for a moment. "Well, since it’s for your brother, I could let you have it for two."
Marguerite could only shake her head. It might as well be two hundred. She bobbed a curtsy to the kindly jeweller, whispered a barely audible "thank you all the same" and moved to the door.
"Mademoiselle!"
Marguerite’s hand was on the door. She turned back to see the shopkeeper, holding out the small loaf of bread from his lunch. "At least take this. You don’t look like you have eaten much lately." Marguerite took it absently, wanting only to escape, and murmured thanks.
Once outside, she found she didn’t have the strength to keep looking. The watch chain was the perfect gift, Even if she could find something for the three copper coins in her pocket, it would only be one hundredth as lovely. Dragging her feet, Marguerite made her way home.
She was so absorbed in her sorrows, and perhaps a bit blinded by them, she did not see him in time. In fact, she was unaware of anything until she had tumbled jarringly to the ground after colliding with someone. Unhappy, tired and upset, she laid her head on the snow and burst into sobs.
"Mademoiselle, I’m so sorry! Have I hurt you?" The voice was kind, very concerned, and, strangely, tinged with a faint English accent. Marguerite took a shuddering breath to calm herself and tried to stand. She felt a hand at her elbow and looked up into the blue eyes of a rather handsome young man of about seven or eighteen, who looked quite concerned over her tearful state. "Are you quite all right? I can fetch a doctor."
"No, I’m all right," Marguerite said hastily. Good heavens! A doctor? How on earth would the bill be paid?
The young man, still rather flustered, cast his eyes about and, noticing the small loaf of bread that had fallen into the snow, scooped it up from the ground. It was dirty and soggy, inedible to all but the most desperate. He turned it over in his gloved hands for a moment, then tossed it aside.
Marguerite, nearly recovered from the shock of her fall, prepared to continue home, "My apologies, Monsieur."
"Just a moment, please." The young man was searching the pockets of his fine coat. Coming up with a small silver coin, he held it out to her. "Please take this, with my apologies."
Marguerite squared her shoulders. She and Armand were not rich, that was certain, but they were not candidates for charity, not yet. Trying to keep the tears back, she stuttered out "That not necessary, Monsieur" and pushed past the concerned young man. She needed to get home.
The apartment on the fifth floor was small, but utterly spotless. Marguerite was proud to keep the home for her brother; she was even a passable cook, but she longed to contribute more tangibly to their household. She sighed as she walked through the tiny rooms. Who was she kidding? She couldn’t even obtain a Christmas present for Armand.
She moved to her bedroom and there, sitting on the bed, was her only comfort when Armand was absent. She hugged Genevieve to her little chest and poured out her sorrow to the doll that had listened as patiently to Maman’s miseries as she did now to those of Marguerite.
When a great deal of time, at least to Marguerite’s tired heart, had passed, when she had finally wept herself into exhaustion, she pulled the doll from her shoulder and looked into her smiling face. "What am I to do, Genevieve? Armand must have a present for Christmas? How am I to get it?"
Perhaps it was the light from the window, or perhaps the tears in Marguerite’s eyes caused her to see things that were not really there. Whatever the cause, it was at that moment, that Marguerite saw Genevieve wink. A thought entered her mind. Did she really dare? The thought roamed about her head as if it had always been there. It might work. It just might. And Armand would have his present. She looked at the doll’s eyes once more: they were fixed and unwavering.
With a sudden movement, Marguerite snatched a shawl that was folded on a nearby table. She folded the fabric tenderly around the beloved doll, then, hugging the bundle protectively, she scurried down to the street and ran.
She was too out of breath to speak when she arrived at the toy shop. In response to the owner’s surly "What, you again? I told you to get off!" she could only push the bundle onto the counter. Exasperated, the shopkeeper flipped the bundle open contemptuously. His disdain vanished, however, when he saw Genevieve. Marguerite’s assessment, though coloured by affection, had been correct. Despite her plain, tattered dress and faded paint, Genevieve was ten times lovelier than any doll in the shop.
Marguerite ignored the avarice in the shopkeeper’s eyes as he inquired, with a voice that dripped with sweetness. "You wish to sell me this doll? This – old doll?"
The feigned kindness did not fool Marguerite. She wanted this over with as quickly as possible; it was too painful to prolong. She gave a furious nod.
"Well, my dear, your doll is very old. It belonged to your mother, yes? I’m not sure anyone would want to buy her. But perhaps..." he added hastily added as Marguerite’s face fell and her little hand reached up to collect Genevieve, "...perhaps I can take a chance. It is, after all, Christmas Eve."
The shopkeeper’s nervous look disappeared as Marguerite’s hand fell back to her side. Genevieve remained serenely on the counter between them. He picked her up with his greasy fingers and examined the delicate porcelain face. Marguerite fidgeted with the tassels on the shawl. How much would she dare ask?
As if he read her mind, the shopkeeper chose that moment to ask, "How much do you want for her, little one?"
Marguerite’s responded without thinking further. "I need two Louis."
"Two Louis?" The shopkeeper’s voice was incredulous. "Too much."
Marguerite merely scooped Genevieve, shawl and all, into her arms. Anything less would be pointless.
She had almost reached the door when she heard the shopkeeper’s blustering words. "All right, all right. Two Louis, but no more." He held out both hands for Genevieve, as if he expected Marguerite to bolt. Trembling, she gave Genevieve a fervent final kiss and hugged her tightly for a last moment. She let the precious doll go, almost cheerfully. Armand’s present would be perfect.
The two precious coins pressed tightly into the palm of her hand, she ran – no, flew – down the emptying street to the jeweller’s shop. Her little heart nearly broke in two as it came into sight. Propped up in the window was a small sign with one word.
Fermé.
The two Louis nearly tumbled into the snow. No. No! It couldn’t be too late! It simply couldn’t! The sacrifice of Genevieve had accomplished nothing. Absolutely nothing. Perhaps, if she ran back to the toy shop, she could – but no. That look in the shopkeeper’s eyes was enough to convince her that Genevieve was lost.
She couldn’t tear her eyes from the window of the shop, but, since the drapes were pulled tightly shut, she could no longer glimpse the desperately desired object. The lamp was still lit behind it them and Marguerite thought she could catch movement by its light. Was there someone still there?
Putting a hasty hand to her eyes to dry them, she approached the closed door. She lifted her hand, hesitated, then rapped her knuckles on the pane of glass set in the heavy wood. Fingers moved the drapes aside and a pair of eyes peered out at her for an instant, then disappeared. Marguerite heard a few clicks and scrapes on the other side of the door before it opened and she saw the kindly face of the jeweller.
"Hello again, Mademoiselle."
Too anxious for pleasantries, Marguerite abruptly held out her hand, in which nestled the two gold coins. "Do you still have that chain?"
"Of course, of course. Come in for a moment my dear." He held the door open a little wider and Marguerite passed inside. The atmosphere was much less oppressive with dark fabric draped over most of the expensive jewellery.
The kindly man moved to the case by the window and pulled back the fabric. After looking for a moment, he returned with the chain. "Now, what price did we agree on?"
For a moment, Marguerite feared he would ask for the three Louis that was the original price. She meekly held out the coins again. "I only have two Louis."
"Ah, but that’s perfect, my dear. Just let me wrap it for you."
"No, that’s all right," said Marguerite demurely.
"It’s not all right," the jeweller rejoined smilingly. "This is a gift for your – your brother, wasn’t it? We can’t give it to him like this."
A minute later, the chain was delivered to her in a smart little box, tied with a bit of scarlet ribbon. It was a beautiful gift. She took the box eagerly, with an effusive "thank you" and "Merry Christmas." She tucked it safely into the pocket of her dress. The shopkeeper opened the door for her, beaming a smile on her as she sailed past. Just on the other side of the threshold, she belatedly remembered the coins that she still clutched in her hand. Blushing a delightful red, she passed the two coins to the jeweller and wished him good night. He seemed reluctant to take the coins that she had sacrificed so much to obtain, but he accepted them after a moment. "A very Merry Christmas, little angel."
Marguerite walked home slowly, savouring the vision in her mind of Armand’s face when he saw the chain. It would be so perfect for Papa’s watch. He probably wasn’t expecting anything at all. What a surprise it would be!
She was happy enough now to finally notice the joyful sights around her. As she passed a café where some of the wealthy were drinking hot Christmas punch, she thought she felt someone’s eyes on her. Looking nervously as the faces of the patrons, she relaxed as she recognized the blue eyes of the Englishman from earlier. An elderly man sat across the table from him, only staring into his punch, not watching his young companion wave to a girl on the street. Marguerite saw the boy’s mouth move, but the conversations at the various tables between them would not allow her to hear his words. She shook her head to indicate her lack of comprehension. The Englishman held up his bowl of punch, evidently offering the same to Marguerite. She shook her head gaily, smiled, and waved to the handsome young man. She couldn’t stop. Armand would be home soon.
When she reached the apartment, she found, to her slight dismay, that Armand had arrived home before her. "Margot! Where have you been?" he asked, as she managed to hide her gift in the pocket of her dress. And instant later, her brother had scooped her up into his arms. "I thought something had happened to you!" He gave her an effusive kiss on the cheek, then, in response to Marguerite’s squirming, set her back on her feet.
"I didn’t go far."
"That’s not the point."
"Very well." Marguerite arranged her features into an expression of contrition. "I am ashamed, oh wise brother! The world outside is not safe for one such as I!"
When she saw Armand smile, she knew her histrionics had accomplished their purpose and she allowed her face to match his. She loved him so dearly. He was all she had in the world. That he worried about her a little more than she would like was probably his only fault.
"Well, now that I see you’re still in one piece, shall we have dinner?"
Marguerite fingered the small box, in her pocket. She could not wait. "No, not yet."
Armand’s face still held a trace of mirth. "Not yet?"
Marguerite, without further ceremony, took the box from her pocket and thrust it effusively toward her brother. It was a great pleasure to watch his eyebrows rise in shock.
"Margot! How did you –?"
"Never mind about that. Open it!"
He took the package carefully from her and looked at it for a long moment before removing the scarlet ribbon and gingerly lifting the lid from the box.
He smiled again as he saw the contents, but this time, to Marguerite’s great confusion, the expression was tinged with irony.
"Well, where is Papa’s watch? Let’s see how it looks."
Armand turned his back to her for a moment, setting the chain, still in its box, on a nearby table. When he turned back to her, he was holding a package of his own, which he held out to Marguerite. "You must open your present first, Margot."
Marguerite gasped and, for a moment, she could not reach out to take the package. Armand didn’t move, holding the package, as if certain that she would adore its contents. Her finger’s trembled as she pulled the green ribbon from the box.
It was a beautiful, exquisite, miniature lace dress. The delicately worked bodice and sleeve were worked perfectly to Genevieve’s measurements. It was the perfect dress to have set off the beautiful, brown curls and eyes of the beloved doll. Marguerite blinked a couple of times before the box dropped from her grasp and she hid her face in her hands, not from sadness, but pure shock.
Armand gently pulled her hands back. "Marguerite..."
A moment later, she had flung her arms around her brother. "You sold Papa’s watch." Of course he had. There was nothing else that would have paid for such a dress.
Armand’s voice was thick as he responded, "And you sold Genevieve."
As they held each other, Marguerite was, strangely, not at all sad. Genevieve was gone, but it mattered surprisingly little. She found herself shaking, not with sobs, but with laughter. Armand pulled back, watching her face. Slowly he began to show the same amusement.
Through her tears, she managed a few words:
"Merry Christmas, Armand."
"Merry Christmas, Margot."