“Bravo!” Paklin exclaimed. “We have had the first verse, now please sing us the second.”
“With the greatest of pleasure,” Fomishka said, “but what about the trill, Snandulia Samsonovna? After my verse there must be a trill.”
“Very well, I will play your trill,” Snandulia replied.
Fomishka began again—
“Has ever lover lovéd true
And kept his heart from grief and rue?
He loveth but to weep anew”
and then Fimishka—
“Yea—hearts that love at last are riven
As ships that hopelessly have striven
For life. To what end were they given?”
“To what end were they given?”
Fomishka warbled out and waited for Snandulia to play the trill.
“To what end were they given?”
he repeated, and then they struck up together—