Several times he took out the flute cautiously, set it to his mouth, and almost breathed into it, but each time timidity seized him, and he slipped it back into his breast. While he hesitated thus, and Francois tarried, night fell. Guillaume knew that he must go home, for his mother would become anxious.
A single step he took in that direction, and then, driven by a feeling which he had no power to resist, he turned back quickly, snatched out the flute, and brought from it a deep full note. This much done, little Guillaume immediately forgot everything but his music. Now, borne upon the evening air to the startled ears of the priest and Francois, came the strains to which the shepherds of Maussane had always marched at the Feast of Noel, played as none but old Guillaume had ever played them.