L'enfant cède à l'heure du rêve
Et le rêve berce l'enfant,
Noel! Noel!"
All sounds are hushed, for night has come
In silence earth unfolding;
The children far through dreamland roam
Rare joys in sleep beholding.
Noel! Noel!
At the first notes, the old priest instinctively turned towards his flock. It was the same chant that ten years before had been sung by the young mountebank. But the voice was not that of the boy, although the playing of the mandolin was surely the same.
With brimming eyes and fluttering heart the old man listened as though spell-bound. Never before had such glorious music filled his obscure little church. It was as though an angel sang.