"Not long," said Yankelé.
"Ha! Does Gabriel the cantor still suffer from neuralgia?"
Yankelé looked sad. "No—he is dead," he said.
"Dear me! Well, he was tottering when I knew him. His blowing of the ram's horn got wheezier every year. And how is his young brother, Samuel?"
"He is dead!" said Yankelé.
"What, he too! Tut, tut! He was so robust. Has Mendelssohn, the stonemason, got many more girls?"
"He is dead!" said Yankelé.
"Nonsense!" gasped the Rabbi, dropping his knife and fork. "Why, I heard from him only a few months ago."
"He is dead!" said Yankelé.
"Good gracious me! Mendelssohn dead!" After a moment of emotion he resumed his meal. "But his sons and daughters are all doing well, I hope. The eldest, Solomon, was a most pious youth, and his third girl, Neshamah, promised to be a rare beauty."