When through the open door of the church on Christmas Eve floated such rich, such tender, such melodious tones as the people of Maussane had not heard in many a year, they turned their ears swiftly to the sound, in awe and wondering delight. 平安夜，当教堂敞开的大门里飘来许多茂萨尼人多年来从未听到过的那种富有的、温柔的、悦耳的音调时，他们立刻侧耳倾听，怀着敬畏和惊奇的喜悦。

“Hark, hark!” they whispered excitedly, each to each. “听啊，听啊！” 他们每个人都兴奋地耳语着。

“Is not that the flute of old Guillaume? There is none other like it. “那不是老纪尧姆的笛子吗？没有比这更好的了。

And yet—and yet—how can it be?” 然而，然而，这怎么可能呢？”

“But see!” cried one. “但是看啊！”其中一个人哭着喊道。

“Who could have believed it! See! It is the little Guillaume who plays!” “谁会相信呢!看!是那个小小的纪尧姆在演奏!”

Yes, it was indeed little Guillaume, moving at the front of the procession, the flute of old Guillaume in his hands, and as he came, his head no longer drooped shyly upon his breast, 是的，确实是小纪尧姆，他走在队伍的前面，手里拿着老纪尧姆的笛子。

but was lifted in a rapture of adoration, while not from his lips alone, but from his very heart streamed forth the glorious notes of praise and worship of the Babe of Bethlehem. 然而，他却因崇拜的狂喜而振奋起来，不仅是从他的嘴唇，而是从他的内心，流露出对 The Babe of Bethlehem 曲的赞美和崇拜。