Then came a wintry evening when he trudged beside Francois as the sheep ran down from the pastures to their folds, and Francois said, with a heavy sigh, “It is a pity, little Guillaume, that you have not the power to play upon the flute as your grandfather could, for my fingers, that I wounded at the sheep-shearing in the spring, have become stiff, and I can no longer make the notes sound as they should. It is too bad. Who is to play the noels at the Feast? There is none to do it in Maussane. This very evening I must go in to Monsieur le Cure, and tell him that for me it is now quite impossible.”
一个寒冷的夜晚，当羊从牧场跑到羊圈时，他艰难地走在弗朗索瓦斯身边，弗朗索瓦斯重重地叹了口气说，“很遗憾，小纪尧姆，你没有能力像你祖父那样吹笛子，因为我春天剪羊毛时受伤的手指，现在已经僵硬了，我不能再发出应有的声音了。我再也不能让音符发出应有的声音了。太糟糕了。宴会上谁来演诺尔斯？这里没有人可以在茂森做这件事。就在今天晚上，我必须进去见本堂神甫先生，告诉他对我来说，现在是完全不可能了。”
Even in spite of this, Guillaume could not speak for shyness; he could only walk by Francois’s side with a choking in his throat, and a swifter beating of the heart. Soon they reached the priest’s house. Francois knocked at the door; it opened, and he went in.
尽管如此，纪尧姆还是说不出他的羞怯；他只能在弗朗索瓦斯身边走着，喉咙哽住了，心跳加快了。不久他们就到了牧师的家。弗朗索瓦斯敲了敲门；门开了，他走了进去。
Guillaume stood outside as one whose feet are chained. Through the half-open window he could hear the grave voices of Monsieur le Cure and Francois. Although he could not hear a word they said, he knew as well as if he had done so, what disappointment they felt. Surging up from the depths of his being was a desire to draw out his grandfather’s flute from his breast, to play upon it, to show them that the Feast of Noel need not go by, after all, without the music that had always helped to make it beautiful.
纪尧姆站在外面，双脚像被链子锁住一样。从半开着的窗子里，他可以听到本堂神甫先生和弗朗索瓦斯低沉的声音。尽管他一个字也听不见他们在说什么，但他清楚地知道，他们感到多么失望。从他的内心深处涌起一种渴望，要把他祖父的笛子从他的胸膛里抽出来，在上面吹奏，向他们表明，诺埃尔的宴会需要音乐，而音乐总是有助于使变得美丽。
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